


The Days Left Behind

by Starfire072302



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Car Accidents, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Daughter!Reader - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Evil Corporations, F/M, Falling In Love, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Gun Violence, Guns, Heartwarming, Heartwrenching, I Made Myself Cry, Kidnapping, Loss of Parent(s), Marvel Universe, Parent Death, Parent Pepper Potts, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter Parker/Reader - Freeform, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Reader doesn't like Tony very much, Reader is a Stark, Reader-Insert, Rescue Missions, Sad with a Happy Ending, Shooting Guns, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stark!Reader, Strained Relationships, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Reader's Parent, You Have Been Warned, in a car crash, reader has ptsd, reader's mom died, slow burn Peter Parker/Reader, there's trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-12-30 19:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfire072302/pseuds/Starfire072302
Summary: It all started with a catastrophic car wreck, and her life was turned upside down. Now, she's suddenly discovered she's the illegitimate child of an eccentric billionaire, Tony Stark himself, a man who knows nothing about fathering a child or how to take care of one. Then again, he really didn't have the best example. She's in a new school with few friends, save for the nerdy boy with a pretty smile. Still reeling from the loss of her mother, (Y/N), unwittingly, has to work with the father who was never there to put her life back together, all while the dangerous, superpowered world he and everyone around her seem to be a part of becomes her new terrifying reality.





	1. Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahahah I'm very skeptical of this actually being good.

You don't remember what happened, or how it happened, just that all of a sudden, you were screaming, and the world had dissolved into noise around you. The screech of metal grated against your eardrums, the smell of spilled gasoline burned your eyes and nose, and a taste like old pennies filled your mouth. There was blood. You were bleeding, someone else was bleeding, you couldn't tell where it was coming from, just that it was so overwhelming, mixed with the scent of gasoline, that you felt bile rise into the back of your mouth, burning the tender taste buds at the far end of your tongue.

You were trapped. The airbag had broken your fall, making it so you avoided the worst of the hit and ultimately avoided slamming your head against the dashboard, but  _you couldn't move._ The airbag prevented you from looking to your left.

The window was broken, and there was glass everywhere. The windshield had caved in, and it looked like someone very large had delivered a direct punch to the glass. But no, no giant in sight, just a tire, one that was leaking air into the front seat of your car. When you coughed, it hurt. Your chest felt tight, restricted. Your left arm was free, just barely, and you pawed around the area it could reach, looking for something, anything to grab onto.

_Mom..._

_Mom is in the car..._

_Mom is driving..._

_MOM._

That was when you began to panic, a pitiful whine escaping your throat, and you felt the sting of tears on your cheeks. You reached up with your free left hand, feeling your head, and you were met with something sticky on your forehead; you were bleeding. Adrenaline was still in your system so you felt  _nothing._ Your heart was thundering in your ears, the squeal of sirens somewhere very far away the only thing audible over it.

"Mom... mom... answer me..."

Nothing. It was dark, light coming in in slim fingers through the shattered glass, the weak illumination not doing much to reveal your surroundings. You sat there, unable to move for what seemed like hours, but in reality, it was probably only a few minutes. 

The door, the one to your right, which had been dented heavily, was suddenly pried open, and a burly woman in a firefighter uniform was brought shakily into view. You whimpered at the sudden burst of light provided from the outside, and you saw the woman flinch at the noise, suddenly bursting into action. 

"Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?"

You gulped for air, and you couldn't nod, your head was wedged against the seat and the airbag.

"Uh... huh..."

"WE HAVE A SURVIVOR! HURRY, GET HER OUT OF HERE!" 

The shouts made your ears ring, and you realized with a start that you couldn't move your right arm. It was bent at a rakish angle at the shoulder; dislocated. It had been pressed against the crushed door, which explained why it had been popped out of place. You still felt no pain, which scared you. There was glass embedded in your lower arm, just above the bend of your elbow.

"My mom... my mom... help her," you pleaded quietly, and the firewoman's eyes softened. 

"We'll get your mom out, kid, don't worry. We're here to help."

The airbag was getting cut away, and you felt the pressure on your chest begin to dissipate. You could turn your head. But before you were able to look anywhere, you were pulled out by a paramedic, strapped onto a gurney, and you stared upon the devastation.

"Don't look," a voice warned, and your blood ran cold.

The car was a mass of silver twists and harsh bends. It had been nearly bent in half against the fence by the side of the freeway, and another car was crushed on top, the tire going through the front windshield. The driver's seat was empty; you presumed whoever was there had already been removed. You heard the paramedic mutter something before strapping a sling to your chest and pushing your arm into it. You were met with a dull throb at the action, which made you whine.

"Honey?" you heard her say, and you blinked your bleary eyes, "you've been hurt, honey. You're lucky to be alive. You respond to noise; that's a good sign."

You were able to make out vague features; blonde hair and a heart-shaped face, a straight nose and dark eyes, but nothing more.

"Pretty," you babbled, and the paramedic may have smiled, you couldn't tell.

"Thank you, sweetie. You're gonna be okay, the ambulance team will take good care of you."

You were being rolled now, into something, it was so loud. Ambulance. It was an ambulance, just like the pretty paramedic said. The doors closed, and you were going fast. 

A man was hovering over you, checking your vital signs. People were speaking in numbers and colors over radios, and everything was bright and shaking and moving.

It was all a blur.

_Mom..._

"My mom..." you cried, and the paramedic put a hand on your shoulder to quiet you. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know."

Something was wrong.

Then, you were swallowed by darkness.

* * *

You awoke to pain, everywhere. Your head was pounding, and you registered the sharp, sterile scent that comes with a hospital. You could feel gauze stuck to your forehead, and the brush of your tangled hair around your face. You glanced around, eyes falling to your right arm. It was wrapped with bandages, fresh and recently changed, which you could tell from their vibrantly white color. Additionally, your arm was resting in a sling. 

It hurt to breathe; it felt like someone was pressing on the side of your ribcage when you exhaled. You were groggy, undoubtedly on pain killers. An intravenous drip was attached to your left wrist, and the beep of a heart monitor was audible. Someone had covered you in a comforter with small rabbit faces on it, and you wondered who brought it. A bouquet of expensive looking lilies and roses decorated the side table. There was a card with your name on it, but your limbs felt far too heavy to lift and pick it up. A stuffed bear with a large blue bow around its neck sat beside your left arm.

"Who...?" you whispered, shifting your arm to tuck the stuffed toy against your side. Your back and head rested against a pillow, and your hospital bed was positioned so you were in a half sitting pose. You closed your eyes again.

_Where's my mom?_

_The accident..._

_THE ACCIDENT!_

There was an accident. That's why you were here. You made a fist, a weak one, trying very hard not to think about what had happened. You didn't know how long ago it happened. How long you'd been here. Weeks? Days? Hours?

There was a television jutting down from the ceiling that you hadn't noticed before, and a news report was playing at a low volume. Something about a celebrity scandal, nothing new. Who brought the blanket? Was your mom okay? Why did you get flowers? You took a heavy breath to calm your racing nerves.

The door to the room opened to reveal a smartly dressed woman with auburn hair and wide blue eyes. She was wearing red lipstick and simple eye makeup. Her hair was tucked behind her head in a neat bun, and it shone like polished copper under the fluorescent lights. Her heels clicked as she opened and shut the door, and she was careful not to make too much noise. She didn't notice you watching her as she went to sit down in a chair near your bed. 

"Um..." you started, and the woman looked up, once, twice, before finally smiling. 

"Oh, you're awake. About time, you've been out cold for nearly a week. How are you feeling?"

"...In pain. Who... are you?"

"My name is Pepper Potts. I was sent to make sure you'd be more comfortable."

A beat.

"Where is my mom?" 

The woman's smile faltered, and your heart dropped. 

"Mallory Welles... Miss Welles didn't..."

No.

_No._

"She didn't. She couldn't. You're lying."

"I'm so sorry, but your mom... Miss Welles passed away in the accident. She... she was dying when they got there. The doctors made sure she didn't feel any pain. She died on the way to the hospital. They... we weren't fast enough to save her." 

You realized you were laughing, and your ribs ached, but you didn't care, this couldn't be  _happening._ This was a nightmare, right? You'd wake up in your Brooklyn apartment with the smell of your mom making waffles before you started homeschooling lessons for the day, and you'd laugh about this crazy dream you'd had. But as the tears came, hot and fast and stinging, you  _knew._ You thought this professional and put together woman might look at you like you were crazy, but she just looked very very sad.

Her pity hurt.

You were sobbing, sobbing harder than you ever had in your life. It  _hurt_. "There's gotta be... be a mistake..."

Pepper embraced you gently, and you lifted your good arm to cling to her, your sobs shaking your body. Somehow, though, in the crash, when you'd been told not to look after you'd been pulled from the wreckage, you knew what was coming. As much as you wanted to deny it, you knew. You knew Pepper was sugarcoating it, trying to make you feel better, but you knew she'd been hurting, you knew. She was already hurting before the accident. Your mother had always had poor health, but she was getting better, she _was._

You cried for a long time, and your lungs burned and your chest hurt when you couldn't cry anymore. The sun was sinking, sending orange light into the room. 

"Your mom wanted you to have this," Pepper finally said, and she drew something from the pocket of her blazer, and she clasped a silver necklace with a small, flat pendant around your neck. It didn't lessen the sting, but it brought you a small comfort to have something of your mom's.

_Press it back, don't think about it. Mom wouldn't want me to be sad. Stay positive for her._

You tossed your jumbled emotions into a dark corner of your mind. You'd deal with that later.

"Thank you," you whispered. Your throat was dry.

"Can you get me some water?"

Pepper nodded and disappeared into the conjoining bathroom, returning with a small paper cup of water. You drank it in a few swallows.

"Where am I gonna go?"

Pepper looked at you for a moment, tucking your hair back, retaking her place in the chair she was formerly sitting in. "Because of what happened to your mother, your father receives custody of you-"

"No," you cut in, "my father was never in the picture. I've never met him, whoever he is. Mom never talked about him, so even if he did receive custody, I don't even know where he is, or where to start looking."

"(Y/N), I represent Stark Industries, do you know what that means?"

You blinked. "You... you work with Tony Stark?"

"Yes. And back in 2002, Tony Stark and one of his lovers had a child. He kept this child from the public, keeping her existence a secret, and-"

"Okay, why are you telling me this if it's such a big secret?"

Pepper held up a hand, "let me make my point. He planned to have the child meet him when she turned twenty-one, but due to... unforeseen circumstances, things have changed. (Y/N), I know you've had a lot happen to you, but this is the last bomb I'm dropping."

You felt exhausted anger begin to simmer in your stomach, "then spit it out."

"You're that child. The name on your birth certificate isn't (Y/N) Welles, it's (Y/N) Stark. You're Tony Stark's daughter."

You were laughing again, at the pure absurdity that you'd just been told. "No, no, no, you must have some kind of mistake, my name is pretty common, right? And even if it's not, there's bound to be other girls in New York or the world for that matter with the same name as me. I'm a teenager from Brooklyn, New York, I can't be... _Tony Stark's daughter._ Is this some sort of prank?" 

"You've been kept track of since birth, and Mr. Stark has been providing money to you and your mother since he found out about her pregnancy. This is no mistake, and it's definitely not a prank."

You felt very strongly like some vaguely famous person would pop out from a closet and shout _"you just got punked!"_

No such luck. You honestly just wished all of this was some sort of sick joke. You felt nausea rise through your body, and you swallowed it back.

"You're really serious?"

Pepper nodded. "As a heart attack."

You took a heavy breath, settling back against your pillows. "Alright, then. When... when can I meet him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the hell am I writing another story when I have two that are incomplete?  
> I don't know.  
> I just... don't.  
> I made an OC and I thought "hey, this backstory would make a nice chapter story," so here we fuckin' are.  
> Anyhow, I will be updating the Hunters and The Edge of Inferno soon, I just had spring break and was in Florida for a week, so I didn't have a lot of time to write. I was at the Disney parks, which were a lot of fun.
> 
> Also, half of the chapter I was working on was deleted, and that was really discouraging. 
> 
> In conclusion, Starry hates herself because she now has three stories that need to be updated. I just keep making my workload bigger.
> 
> Also, my friend was helping me come up with titles, and one of her suggestions, jokingly, was; "so in conclusion, fuck cars." 
> 
> I love her.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having issues on where the hell to put MC so she can actually go to school. MC is going to go to Midtown, because this is still a Peter Parker x Reader, so it would be strange for me to put her anywhere else. The New Avengers Compound, where Tony and the others live after Civil War, is in Upstate New York, which is a few hours away from the city. But since Tony is MC's father, she has to live there, too, so she'll just have to take a while to get to school.
> 
> The more I write this story's introductory chapters the more and more I lose faith in its quality. 
> 
> Also, when I published chapter one, it said the story was completed. It isn't, and I have literally no idea why it did that. Sorry.

 

>                    
> 
> _This is here for reference._

* * *

You were discharged from the hospital after a few more days, and the nights alone before you left were the hardest. You tried your hardest not to think about her, but she was in your dreams, glass, and blood coating her skin, her once pale hair matted against her head. She spoke your name, in a hoarse whisper, and you woke up panicking and sobbing and shaking. The nurses were at a loss of how to console you. Your mother had been buried while you were still unconscious. You never even had the chance to say goodbye.

" _Push it back,_ " you told yourself, " _they don't need to worry._ "

Pepper brought you clothing; expensive clothing. It had the smell of cloth fresh from the racks. She told you that your things in your bedroom, as well as much of the things from your mom's room at the apartment, had been moved to Tony Stark's current residence in the Avenger's Compound in upstate New York, which was around an hour and ten minutes away. You dressed with the help of a nurse into the clothing. A pair of nice ankle boots, jeans that looked like they would cost you every penny of your savings, and a blouse with little flowers decorating it. You were given a coat to wear, as it was chilly outside, and you left the arm in the sling out of one of the coat sleeves.

You looked in the mirror in the bathroom. Your hair was still damp from when the nurse had helped you wash it, and it fell around your face in messy locks, but it had been brushed. You looked clean. Your clothing was new and fresh. A small bandage held the cut on your forehead closed. You looked like a rich kid. Well, that was technically what you were now. You fingered the pendant around your neck, swallowing the lump in your throat.

_Don't. You'll break._

You tucked the pendant into your shirt.

You breathed.

And you turned to leave, picking up the folded blanket with rabbit faces and the stuffed bear; tucking them under your good arm to take with you. You swallowed, pushing the feeling of leaving something behind in the hospital's sterile halls to the back of your mind. Mom wouldn't want you to be sad. You'd already been checked out when you went to do it yourself, so you glanced around the waiting room anxiously, having no idea which of the hospital's exits to take to go where you needed to go, or where you were even going, for that matter.

"Stark? Miss Stark?"

The name didn't register at first, as you weren't used to the name. Then, all at once, you realized the person speaking was referring to you. A man. He was dressed in a slate grey suit and tie and was slightly heavyset. An impassive look decorated his face. You squeezed the blanket to your chest, trying to push back the anxiety that had begun to rise there.

"Yeah, I'm here," you said, the strained exhaustion of your own voice surprising you. 

"You're looking well," he said, "I hope you're feeling better than when you arrived."

You managed a tight smile. "I've seen better days, that's for sure." 

A huffed laugh. "I'm Happy Hogan. I'll be taking you home."

For a man with a name like 'Happy,' his demeanor suggested very mild irritation.

"Home," you repeated, "I guess that's right."

"Let me take those," Happy said, taking the blanket and bear before you could say anything, "no use in hurting yourself." 

You nodded in thanks, and Happy dug into the pocket of his jacket. "And before I forget, your father bought you this."

He handed you a box, dusty fuschia, and velvet. It looked expensive. You blinked at it for a moment, processing the gift before going to put it in your coat pocket.

"No, open it now. He wants to know what you think. He asked me to text him. I don't know why it can't wait." 

You hesitated, raising a quizzical eyebrow before opening the box. A bracelet sat inside. It was made of small silver interlocking chains, little round diamonds (or what you assumed were diamonds, you'd never held an actual one in the palm of your hand before) decorating the spaces in between the links. A small pendant hung from the front; round and inlaid with a circular gem. It was a sort of cloudy dark lavender. It was beautiful.

"What stone is this?" You asked, running your thumb over the smooth surface. 

Happy shrugged. "You'd have to ask Tony. I don't know anything about jewelry."

You removed the bracelet from the box, fixing it on your left wrist with some difficulty due to your sling. You then tucked the box into your coat pocket.

"It's... nice," you managed. You'd never received a gift like this before, so you were a bit bewildered. Happy made a noise with his mouth. 

"I'll take it. Better that you tolerate it than not like it at all." 

You followed as he began to walk, and you ducked your head down to avoid the stares from people in the waiting room. Their whispers made your face flush.

_Grin and bear it._

You exited the hospital, squinting at the sudden light. The cool late autumn air made your damp hair feel cold against your scalp, and you shivered. The day was just beginning, and the pleasant warmth of the rising sun felt good on your face, counteracting the breeze a little. The sky was like spilled watercolor, crushed oranges and golds mixing to form lavender clouds. You had to look up and between skyscrapers to see it, the buildings around you cutting into the awakening sky like rows of metal teeth. The car Happy had driven to retrieve you was a Rolls Royce, you realized with a start, complete with the hood ornament. You resisted the juvenile urge to wolf whistle, opting to bite your lip instead. Now wasn't the time.

You opened the door to the back seat, but you froze. You shook your head to clear the spike of fear from your system.

"Don't worry, I'm a careful driver."

You swallowed, blinking rapidly, and you put a hand to your chest to try and calm your nerves. You were crying, you realized, and you harshly wiped the tears with the back of your hand.

"Sorry, I bet you are. I didn't expect to react so strongly," you said finally.

"That's alright. I'm... sorry about-"

"Thanks," you said, and you knew you were being harsh. He couldn't do much else than offer his condolences. You softened. "I... I appreciate that."

You clenched the fabric of your blouse in your fist.  _Get it together._

You'd never in your life been inside a car this nice before. The seats were heated and made of leather, and a sort of small desk sat above your knees. A television screen was installed into the back of the seat in front of you. You stared at it, unsure of what to do with it. The windows were decorated with curtains, and some sort of speaker with a large dial was installed between the two seats in the back. You opted not to touch it; you had no idea what it did.

Happy passed back a slim phone, and you took it, giving him a quizzical look in the mirror. "What's this for?"

"Your phone was broken in the crash, so your father got you this. Your data is already on there, so need to worry about set up." 

What was your father trying to do, buy your appreciation? You chewed your lip but managed a gracious smile. "Yeah, thanks. He doesn't need to keep spending so much money on me."

Happy chuckled. "Tell that to him, not me."

The car's engine rumbled to life, and you leaned against the windowsill to watch the city go by. People scurried to-and-fro, dressed smartly on their ways to work. A small boy with a backpack was playing with a toy airplane, his mother doing her best to keep up with his quick movements. A woman stood to wait for the bus, deft fingers leafing through a manilla folder. A man was hurrying along the sidewalk, his tie undone, and another man was scrambling to get through the door of his townhouse as he haphazardly stuffed loose papers into a briefcase. A woman watered the flowers in her window box with a watering can that was decorated with colorfully painted tulips. A man played the guitar with a top hat for change at a street corner. An elderly couple held hands as they took a stroll down the sidewalk. A cluster of students walked to school, and a man dressed in a rumpled suit shoved through them to dash down into a subway entrance. 

Life went on, even when yours came to a screeching halt. You envied the people who still had it so simple. 

You watched the water as you rolled onto the Bronx–Whitestone Bridge (after Happy paid the toll), leaving Queens behind you. The lights that illuminated the bridge at night still cast a faint glow, not yet turned off. Small speed boats cut through the water, their wakes like foamy snakes behind them. You wondered what your father was like; in person. You weren't sure if the wisecracking, unfiltered man he was whenever you saw him on TV was an act or not, but you guessed you'd find out. Some of your features made sense now, how your jaw was stronger than your mothers, and your eyebrows heavier. Your hair tended to fall in waves, while your mother's own hair was straight as hay. Your hair was darker than hers, but you did have her eyes. You now knew those other features were his. You looked like him. 

"You'll be going to school in Queens, Midtown High School. I know that's far, but that's what your father decided was best. And he knows one of the students there, so he's asked him to help you out."

You didn't look away from the water, which glittered dusty lavender and crushed marigold in the light of the rising sun. "Isn't the compound in upstate New York? That's like an hour and a half away. Or, that's what Pepper told me."

"Yeah, he said that if the distance was a big enough problem you could take a helicopter-"

You snorted at the idea of flying to school. "I'll just have to get up earlier. I'd really rather not come to school in something so loud. That'll just make me seem obnoxious."

"Agreed. Pepper didn't think that was such a good idea either."

You somehow managed to stay awake throughout the drive, occupying yourself with playing games of poker solitaire (and losing a lot) on your phone and by looking out the window to watching the trees go by. You went through the occasional small town on your journey to the Avengers Compound, and you enjoyed this because you could see what people were doing through your window there, which was far more entertaining than trees. 

Then, it came into view. It was a large, sprawling place, a collection of buildings, all grey, and modern. Trees dotted the lawn, walkways weaving through them. The compound was on the Hudson River, and the water reflected the light, making everything seem even brighter. The building closest to the river was sleek and modern with the Avengers logo stamped on the side. Wide glass windows decorated the front, the body white. There was a pool or pond of some sort in the front, and some sort of flying ship with folded wings on a circular launch pad.

"Is that...?" you trailed off.

"That's your new home."

The car stopped, and you slid out, tugging your coat more tightly around your body. It was breezier here than in the city; no buildings to block the wind. Happy stepped out from the driver's side, jabbering on the phone. You shifted awkwardly, following Happy as he gestured to you to follow him inside.

The foyer itself was almost as big as your entire apartment, a modern chandelier that probably cost just as much as said apartment hanging from the ceiling. There were walkways high above you, shrubbery decorating corners and end tables. Some sort of smallish sweet-smelling tree stood beside the glass staircase, which you followed Happy up. He hung up the phone and said nothing, and neither did you. You were afraid to touch anything in here, afraid to smudge the spotless surfaces. 

You were lead to what seemed to be a living room, bigger than any you'd ever been in. It had red couches and a large, modern looking kitchen off to the side. A dining table surrounded by red cushioned chairs was by the wall to your right, and some sort of high tech screen was projected on the wall. Bits and bobs were littered across the surface, most of them being metal. A collection of crystal bottles full of dark liquid decorated one of the tables in the kitchen

"Ah, you brought her. Good, good. And she's in one piece."

You turned at the sound and came face to face with Tony Stark himself. He was taller than you and scruffier than you expected. His hair wasn't combed, or maybe it was, albeit poorly, and it stuck up in many different directions. His beard was trimmed, face smooth, but you imagined shaving and brushing his teeth was the only thing he'd done when he'd got up this morning. He wore an AC/DC t-shirt and worn-out jeans, which was sort of underwhelming.

He suddenly put his hands on your shoulders, which made you flinch, and his touch eased on the arm that rested in the sling. "Let me look at you," he said, and you smiled awkwardly.

He looked like you. In the face, with the jaw and nose and eyebrows. His eyes fell on the cut on your forehead, and he half reached up to touch it before pulling away with a pat on your good shoulder.

Pepper Potts sat behind him on one of the sofas, a mug of coffee in her hands. You hadn't noticed her before. She was dressed and looked much more put together than the man standing before you.

"Okay, on that note, I should probably go to work." Pepper rose and kissed Tony's cheek, making you blink in surprise, and Pepper put a hand on your shoulder. 

"I'll be back in the afternoon. I put your room together, so try and settle in." 

You watched her go, and Happy muttered some excuse before following her.

You looked back at Tony, and he looked at you.

"Hi," you said lamely.

"Hi." 

Silence.

You shifted. "So... you're my-"

"Yup," he replied.

Tony gestured for you to sit with him on the couch Pepper had previously occupied, and you complied, shrugging off your coat. 

"Oh, yeah, just put that anywhere. Make yourself comfortable, you're home." 

His gaze fell to your left wrist. "Oh, Happy delivered my little present. You like it?"

You fingered the pendant. "Yeah, it's nice. Thank you. What is this stone called?"

"That is called hackmanite. It turns colors when exposed to the sun, which I think is really cool, so I got you one. Also, Pepper said that design was nice. We sort of compromised, I picked the stone, she picked the band."

You regarded him. "Are you and Pepper-"

"Together? Yes. Is that bad?"

You shook your head. "No, it's fine. She seems nice."

"What do you like to do for fun, then, kiddo?" Tony propped his feet up on the coffee table, folding his hands in front of him. You slid off your boots, tucking your feet under your body.

"Uh- I like art. And needlepoint."

Your father nodded, "I saw, yes, Pepper brought that over. Your... projects? What do you call them when they're a plural? I dunno, 'needlepoints' just sounds wrong to me. You've also got some Picasso prints, so that's fun." 

More silence.

"Are you... holding up okay?"

_Barely._

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

Another pause. "I'm sorry about your-"

"Thanks."

He studied your face with calculating eyes, and you blinked back. "Jesus, you look just like me, in the face. The body not so much, because- you know, gender."

That made you smile, and he smiled back. "There we go, there's a smile. You come in here all doom and gloom, it's bad for morale-"

"There are two of us in here," you pointed out, and he paused. 

"-for _our_ morale, predominantly, you, uh- didn't let me finish. But when you came in, there were more, so that's a thing."

He half stood before sitting again. "I was going to offer a drink but then I realized you're not of age, so that's out of the picture."

You studied him. "You... you have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

Tony looked mildly affronted. "I'm not flying totally blind. Pepper bought me a bunch of parenting books when we found out you were coming to stay- which I read- okay, _skimmed_ \- but I didn't have the best teacher. My father wasn't... good at being a father, let's put it like that."

You realized with a start that the great Howard Stark was your grandfather. Tony pressed his hands together, rising abruptly.

"Okay, there's food in the fridge if you wanna have something for breakfast- or lunch, it _is_ getting a little late. I didn't know what cereal you liked so I bought six different kinds. I bought popsicles, some ice cream, fruit, veggies, all that good stuff. Pepper or I will make dinner this evening. I thought we could maybe watch a movie; you can pick. Pepper'll be too busy, she's got some work tonight, so it'll be you and me."

You stared at him blankly. "Okay... uh, sounds good. Also- what should I call you?"

Tony considered this. "Well, (Y/N), there are many variations of 'dad.'"

You swallowed. He was basically a stranger, but he  _was_ your father, so you didn't want to drive a wedge between the two of you by calling him by his first name. He was all you had now.

"Okay, uh- dad, then."

He smiled, a hand going to brush the hair away from your eyes. The action was stiff and unfamiliar, slightly awkward. But you could tell he meant well. However, you weren't overly fond of how he'd never been a part of your life until now. You felt a bitter taste rise in your mouth, and you stood up when he took his hand away. 

"Where's my bedroom?"

"Oh, follow me. I almost forgot about that." 

He lead you upstairs, and you followed, gazing around at the spacious house. You stopped at a door at the end of the hall, and Tony opened the door with a flourish.  

"Pepper and I have a room just down the hall, so if you can't sleep or something come bug us."

The room was bigger than your old one, that's for sure. The bed was big and covered in pillows and your stuffed animals from home. The comforter from home was also spread out, and your smaller blankets had been folded at the foot of the bed on top of a blanket chest. Your jewelry box had been added to a vanity that must have been new, you'd never seen it before. The door to a walk-in closet stood ajar, and there was another door, this one stood fully open, that lead into a bathroom. There was a desk pressed into a corner, and a laptop sat on it; another thing you believed to be new. Your mom was the one who owned the laptop, and that had been in the car during the accident.

A collection of chairs and beanbags sat around a slim television that was mounted on the wall. It was connected to several game consoles. Everything was here, even the dresser you'd had since you were little. Your prints of paintings hung on the wall, and a stack of your messy needlepoint projects sat on your dresser. You stepped into the room, setting your shoes and coat onto one of the beanbags. 

"You like it?" came Tony's voice, and you nodded.

"Yeah. A bit bigger than I'm used to, but it's nice."

_It reminds me of mom._

You blinked back the tears that had begun to well in your eyes. 

_Don't push it._

"So!" you said, maybe a little too cheerily, "wanna uh... watch tv or something?"

You turned to meet your father's eyes, and he studied you for a moment, some sort of sadness in his eyes. He smiled lopsidedly.

"We've got Netflix. Take your pick, kiddo."

You swallowed. "Can we just watch something funny? A comedy, something? I need to take my mind off... everything."

The lopsided smile turned into a grin. "Is The Office okay?"

You smiled back. "Perfect." 


	3. Keep Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading too many Peter Parker imagines so I want to write, and it's almost one in the morning, but my insomnia prevents me from falling asleep.
> 
> Joy.
> 
> At the time I upload this chapter it probably won't be one in the morning.  
> This story is so iffy I'm really not confident in the quality.

You'd changed into something more comfortable when you'd gained a few moments alone in your new bedroom, and when you saw your mom's old sweater hanging in your closet, it was all you could do not to break down. You shoved it forcefully back into the closet and chose something new instead.

You took the sling off. You couldn't bear to have it on any longer. Nothing happened majorly, you could use the appendage, but it hurt when you moved it in certain ways. You'd just have to be careful.

You chose some oversized sweatshirt from the closet with a small picture of a cat on the left breast and a pair of sports leggings. Comfy and new. You tightened your fists, nails digging pinkish half-moon shapes into the skin of your palm.

_Keep moving._

Halfway through the tenth or eleventh episode of the Office, you didn't remember which episode for sure, you fell asleep. Not for long, just a doze, but you woke up with your head on your father's shoulder and a blanket around you.

"Oh, hello. You're awake. You slept for a bit. I just grabbed you a blanket."

You blinked groggily, stretching back against the couch. "Thanks. I, uh... haven't been sleeping the greatest." 

Tony blew a stream of air through his lips. "Figures. Want some ice cream? I want some."

You followed him with your eyes as he stood. "Okay. I'll have some."

"Kay," he opened the freezer, "we have turtle tracks, cookie dough, Neapolitan, strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla separately, mint chocolate chip, and salted caramel."

He looked back at you expectantly, "your pick, kiddo."

"Neapolitan," you answered, "that way I can have three kinds."

A chuckle. "I like the way you think. I'm gonna have salted caramel."

He didn't scoop anything into bowls, much to your surprise, but the feeling of surprise was something you figured you'd need to get used to. Instead, he took two spoons from a drawer and carried the entire cartons over. 

"Oh, okay, sure," you muttered, taking your selected carton from his hands, popping it open gingerly, careful not to jar your sore arm. You took a bite of strawberry first, focusing back on the television screen.

"Never had an entire carton of ice cream to myself before," you mused, and Tony smiled. 

"First time for everything, (Y/N)."

You didn't say anything in response, simply nodding. 

"So," you said after a moment of eating, "Happy said you knew someone at a school in Queens, a student or something."

"Yeah, I do. He... he, uh... he's interning with me, for lack of better words. Long story, not gonna get into it. His name is Peter Parker. Good kid, he'll help you out."

"Speaking of school, you'll start going as soon as that sling is off- which it is. I've dislocated my shoulder before- both, in fact, not at the same time, though- so I know you can take it off after a few days, so you taking it off now won't hurt you. I know it's sudden, but the start of the trimester is soon, in a few days, and I don't think you'd like it all that much if I dropped you right in the middle of an ongoing trimester. You'd have no idea what was going on. Also, the kid is really excited. You're exempt from PE for the time being, at least until your shoulder completely heals- that takes twelve to sixteen weeks- and the cracks in your ribs are gone. So you'll have to watch as other kids pummel each other with dodgeballs."

You swallowed, "yeah, today and tomorrow to rest are fine. I'd like to start... doing something new as soon as possible."

_Get my mind off it all._

 You didn't meet his eyes after speaking, but you knew he was looking at you.

"Any extracurriculars you're considering?" Tony said finally, and you shrugged your good shoulder.

"Even if I wanted to do sports, I'd have to wait until I was healed. And I was homeschooled for pretty much my whole life, so I don't have much experience with them, either."

Tony shrugged. "It's just an over-glorified game of fetch, anyway, so you're not missing out on much. Don't tell Scott I said that."

You looked at him blankly. "Who's Scott?"

"Oh, Scott Lang, You'd probably know him as Ant-Man, or that guy who can make himself really really small, or in some cases, really really big. We're not really the best of friends"

"Oh," you said after thinking for a moment, "right, that guy."

"Also, he's someone else who's expressed interest in meeting you, so he might pay us a visit. It's his weekend with his kid, though, so probably sometime during the week. Natasha is coming home today or tomorrow, and she frankly terrifies me sometimes, so that's a thing."

"Who-"

"Black Widow."

"Oh, okay."

You'd learned that you pretty much had to just accept what was happening around you in this new environment.

"Who else should I know about?"

Tony considered this for a moment. "Vision is... somewhere. I think he's upstairs or training or whatever the hell that guy does for fun. No idea where Cap is, we're not really on speaking terms right now. The kid-er, Spiderman, lives in Queens, so you'll meet him sooner or later. Natasha Romanoff lives in the compound, so you'll probably see a lot of her. T'Challa is in Wakanda so, uh, don't expect to see him any time soon. Hawkeye is probably with his family, Thor is god knows where; we tend to lose track of him with all the interdimensional travel he does, and Bruce Banner is probably somewhere stress-free."

"Pretty scattered," you mused, and Tony shrugged. 

"We know how to find each other."

Just as you were relaxing back into the couch again, scooping another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, you heard someone speak, and it made you jump.

 _"Mr._   _Stark, Natasha Romanoff is here."_

"What-" you started, but Tony put a hand up. 

"That's just Friday, she runs the house. I also designed her, so double whammy. Yeah, let her in, she has her key. I didn't know she'd come so soon."

You swallowed your bite of ice cream a little too fast, and you swore under your breath at the bloom of pain that followed. You pressed your thumb to the roof of your mouth, a trick your mom taught you when you got brain freezes as a child. It began to fade, and you rubbed your temples.

Tony was staring at you. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, "brain freeze."

"I hate those," a new voice said, and you turned to see a woman standing at the top of the stairs. She was gorgeous, with red hair and noble features. She was tall and buxom, dressed in a form-fitting t-shirt, a leather jacket (not so form-fitting), a pair of dark jeans and lace-up boots

"Cute boots," you said lamely, and she smiled. 

"Thanks. Likewise with that cat hoodie. How's your arm doing?"

"Oh," you said, "fine. It's seen better days, I guess."

Another smile, a gentle one, and then her gaze hardened as she turned to Tony. "A word."

It was like a command, and Tony blinked in surprise. "Good to see you too, Nat."

She gave wry smile and subsequently took Tony by the arm, leading him to the far corner of the kitchen, where she began to speak with a low voice. You only caught snippets over the dialogue on the television, but you could tell this woman wasn't exactly pleased with your father. You turned your eyes to the side to observe what was happening in the kitchen, and you had to strain your ears to make out what was being said.

"This girl just lost everything, Tony. You're all she has now. I know you never had the best father figure, but you need to try."

"She's a teenager, basically a young adult. I'll treat her like everyone else."

Natasha's eyes flared dangerously.

"No, you won't. She's a kid, a minor. She's got a lot of growing up to do, Tony, and it's your job as her father to be there to help her the rest of the way. I know you don't know what you're doing, but she doesn't need arrogance, she needs her father. Be that for her. You weren't there for the first chunk of her life, so you need to be there for the rest of it."

She met your eyes, realizing you'd been listening, and she gave Tony a quick pensive look as she approached you. There was something soft in her eyes as she came closer, and you felt the dam inside you swell. You pressed it back. 

"I heard about what happened with your mother, and I'm so sorry you had to go through that, (Y/N). It's horrible to lose someone you love, and I know how that feels." 

She lowered herself elegantly into an armchair positioned to your right, legs crossing one over the other. Tony retook his seat on the other side of you, busying himself with the carton of ice cream, which Natasha eyed for a moment with a quizzical glance before looking back to your face. 

There was pity in her eyes, but something else as well. Something sad, and painful, and you  _knew._ You  _knew_  she understood.

"Thank you," you whispered, "I'm trying not to think so much about it."

"I'm Natasha, nice to meet you. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, (Y/N), we're happy to have you."

You smiled tightly. "Thanks."

"Tony, where is she going to school?"

"Oh, Midtown High School. It's in Queens, I know a guy."

Natasha looked at him for a long moment, and she narrowed her eyes. " _Queens?_  That's an hour away, Tony, why the hell don't you send her somewhere close by?"

"Because I'd rather have her somewhere close to Pepper in the city in case of an emergency. And you'll be in the city, so she'll be okay."

Another stretch of silence. "Also, the kid is there, so he'll offer his assistance if something happens."

"Just how young is Spiderman? I always thought he was an adult," you said, and Tony met your eyes. 

"I'm afraid that's classified-"

"Jesus, Tony, she's your child, don't act like this with her. Everyone in the compound knows this information. Spiderman is not much older than you, (Y/N). I'll leave it to Tony to tell you any more."

Natasha gave a sharp look, and Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

You took another bite of ice cream, casting your eyes to the ground. 

"Anyway, I'm on the same floor as your room, so if you ever need something, you know where to find me."

Natasha squeezed your shoulder as she stood, and you managed a half-smile. "Maybe I'll stop by." 

She disappeared up the staircase, and you watched her go.

"Almost two, do you want me to order that pizza now?" 

You popped the lid back on the ice cream carton, rising from the sofa to replace it in the freezer. "Sure. Make it pepperoni." 

Tony smiled. "Coming right up, kiddo."

He propped his feet up on the table, relaxing back into the couch. "Hey, Friday, call the closest Pizza place."

_"Sure thing. Do you want me to direct it to your cell?"_

He waved his hand. "No, don't bother, just put it on speaker."

He looked to you, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the dial sounded, and a man's voice filled the room. You felt the mild sting of pity at the boredom in his voice.

_"Lefty's Pizzeria, this is Ron, how may I help you?"_

"Hey there, Ron, I'd like to order a large pepperoni pizza, and do you have any sort of dessert pizza? That exists, right?"

_"We have very berry swirl pie and chocolate pie. There's an option for cinnamon or no cinnamon."_

He looked at you expectantly. "Your pick."

"Very berry swirl. With cinnamon."

"We'll have that."

_"Okay, I'll need a name and address, sir."_

A smirk. "Tony Stark at the Avengers Compound."

A pause.  _"I'm-I'm sorry, repeat that?"_

"Kay. Do you have some sort of pen and paper ready, because I'm not saying it again. This is Tony Stark, at the Avengers Compound."

_"Sir, we don't appreciate prank calls-"_

"Not a prank call, Ron, I'm serious as a heart attack. We're hungry over here, so hurry it up."

_"Uh. Right. If our guy goes to the goddamn Avengers Compound and nobody takes the food, I'm calling the police."_

As the dial tone sounded, you began to laugh. It started as a giggle, then harder and more breathless. It hurt your ribcage, but you didn't care, it felt good. You took a heavy breath, wrapping your arm around your lower stomach. 

 "I'm legitimately hungry, so getting you to laugh was just a bonus, but I'm glad that cheered you up," Tony said, and you rolled your eyes.

"That was on purpose."

He grinned. "So sue me."

You dozed in and out of consciousness as the time ticked by, and Tony must have gotten bored of what was playing on Netflix because he switched over to regular television and had begun flipping through channels. Some action flick with explosions that kept waking you up was now on, and you snatched the remote from the table and turned the volume down.

Tony looked at you indignantly and turned the volume back up. "My TV, my rules."

You felt anger bubble in your chest, and you sent him the sharpest glare you could muster. He only turned the TV down a few notches, but he wouldn't budge when you told him to go any further. 

_"Mr. Stark, pizza is here."_

You were jolted awake by Friday's announcement, and you rubbed your eyes. Tony stood up, swiping a billfold from the table, going towards the stairs. You darted after him.

He glanced back. "You don't have to come along, kiddo, I'll get it."

"No, no. I wanna see this."

Tony opened the door with a flourish, making the delivery boy jump. He was tall and rail-thin with acne contouring his cheeks and forehead, uncombed blonde hair that was a little too long to be stylish on his head.

"You're-"

"Yup. What do I owe you?"

"You really did-"

"Yes, I really did. Everyone likes pizza, that's a universal fact. What's the price, fifteen, twenty-five? Whatever, let's make it fifty. Use the rest to get yourself something nice."

He handed some bills to the boy, patting him on the shoulder and taking the pizza box from his hand. "Drive safe."

He closed the door.

You were snickering, and Tony sent you a smirk. "Let's eat."

You ate your fill of pizza and very berry cinnamon pie, and Tony and you got midway through a bad horror movie and a half before Pepper got home. You were barely conscious to register her arrival or the kiss she delivered to the crown of Tony's head; the events of the day and everything before was beginning to catch up with you.

You stood, pushing your mussed hair from your face. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"Bed?" Tony asked, "it's six o'clock, little early for that." 

"I'm tired," you argued, and Pepper held up a hand before Tony could say more. 

"Go, sleep. You need your rest." She sent Tony a sharp look.

As you lay in your bed, tucked under your duvet, you felt your throat tighten. You pulled a teddy bear to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut. 

_No. Keep moving._

_Don't think about it._


	4. School

You slept most of the next day, only waking when Natasha shook you back into consciousness for lunch; you'd slept through breakfast. After you'd eaten, you went back to sleep. The shock of everything was catching up with you; taking a toll on your body. You just felt exhausted, and the only cure for that was sleep.

You were woken the next morning by Natasha again, who was also going to the city and needed to be there around the same time you needed to be at school. You dressed slowly after a bath, (you were unable to take a shower because it would get your stitches wet) taking care not to strain any of your injuries. You rewrapped your lower arm where there were stitches, where you'd been cut by the broken window. They itched and throbbed. You couldn't scratch them, not even if you wanted to. Your bare body was riddled with plum swatches and amaranth hues, ones that ached to press on too much. You'd bruised some bones, the doctors told you, on your hip and lower thigh.

On the left side of your ribcage, the skin was the color of dark wine, the marks patchy and rough along the inward bend of the ribs themselves. The outer edges of the contusion were stained a raw pink. It hurt. You'd ben trying not to touch it. You hissed through your teeth as you attempted to hook your bra on, the underwire pressing into the injury. You put on a sports bra instead with some difficulty, as well as rather slowly as you tried to avoid snagging the stitches on your shoulder with the thick strap. At least nothing was hurting your ribs now. It was the lesser of two evils.

You chose a pair of slim jeans and a soft blue sweater, pairing them with the ankle boots Pepper brought you when you were discharged from the hospital. You pulled your sodden hair back into a ponytail at the base of your neck. You wanted it out of your face today. 

It was raining, you noticed, as you pulled the curtains away from one of the wide windows that stretched from floor to ceiling beside your bed. The water droplets pittered against the glass, pausing a brief moment before sliding the rest of the way down, only to be replaced by more. The day was slate gray, the sky restless with rolling clouds. The fog that often accompanied rain on the east coast filtered through the trees; twisted and moving around the trunks like translucent snakes. You rested your forehead against the coolness of the glass, staring to the patch of shrubbery far below your window. 

"(Y/N)."

You looked over your shoulder to see Natasha, who had dressed smartly in a straight skirt and white blouse. She held a briefcase in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. She handed it to you as you approached her. 

"Lunch."

"Who-"

"Tony. I contributed. I looked at what he'd packed and he'd pretty much only put things that would rot your teeth, so I added an apple, some grape juice, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I left the rest, though, before he could notice I'd changed anything."

You smiled. "Thanks."

"Grab something on the way out, we gotta get moving."

You tucked the paper bag into your backpack, slinging one of the straps over your good shoulder as you brushed past Natasha and went down to the kitchen. Tony was sitting on the couch, a mug of coffee in his hands. The room smelled very strongly and pleasantly of the beverage, so you figured it was some sort of expensive gourmet kind. You took a thermos from the cabinet (after a moment of searching) and filled it with coffee from the pot. The thermos had  _Stark Industries_ emblazoned across the side, and you pressed your lips together as you mixed a few spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee, adding a little bit of cream as well. You'd had it black once before, and it was far too strong for your tastes. Plus, you liked sweeter things.

So did your mom.

"Hey, I made you breakfast, and by breakfast, I mean I put that bagel on the counter for you."

You glanced to the counter where a plain bagel sat, and you frowned. You took a knife, cutting it in half to add something. "That is literally the most boring thing to eat dry."

"I put the jelly out, so go crazy."

You looked over the counter at him with a deadpan look, not breaking eye contact as you opened the condiment applied it to the bread. You took a bite. 

"Wow, great breakfast, ten out of ten."

"Thank you for appreciating my culinary prowess."

"Sarcasm,  _dad_ ," you said, and Tony looked at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Well, how was I supposed to know what you want for breakfast? Also, I knew it was sarcasm, I'm not completely inept. "

"Fu- freaking  _ask me-"_

"Hey now, watch your mouth- wow, okay, I'm a hypocrite-"

Natasha stuck her head around the corner. "Let's go."

"See you later," you said, and Tony gave you a peace sign as you left.

You took a sip of your coffee as you left the building, almost burning your tongue. You jerked the thermos away from your mouth, sucking in some cool air to try and assuage your singed tongue. 

"Hurry, Happy's waiting and it's starting to rain harder."

You put a hand over your head in a feeble attempt to stay dry as you scurried to the car, slipping into the back seat, followed closely by Natasha. 

"You didn't forget anything, did you, (Y/N)?"

You shook your head, unzipping and pawing through your bag to check for sure. "No, no, I have everything."

"Good. Let's go."

You watched the raindrops fall in rivulets down the window, resting your head against the glass. It was chilly in the car, and you slipped your arms from the sleeves of your jacket to tuck them against your chest.

"Here."

You looked up at Natasha, watching as she fiddled with a dial on the console between you. Heat burst from below your seat, rushing over your body and making you involuntarily shiver, goose flesh spreading across your skin. 

"Thanks."

"No problem. Also, if something happens during the day, or something gets too overwhelming, call me or Tony. I probably won't answer as fast as Tony will; I'll be tied up with things all day, but I'll try to make time if you need me."

You felt your eyes prickle at her words, the sentiment touching. "I think I'll be okay, but that... certainly makes me feel more secure."

There was something sad in her eyes as she looked at you, but it was gone as soon as you noticed. "Just... have a good day at school. From what I've seen and heard of you, you're a strong kid, so I know you'll be alright, for the most part. But, don't be a stranger, okay?"

You smiled. "Okay."

She patted you on the arm gently, and you looked out the window, watching as the rain drove down the glass. You rested your head against the windowsill, and the car was silent save for the whir of the tires, the drumming of the rain on the roof, and the music that Happy was playing at a low volume. You felt your eyelids grow heavy. You didn't pay attention when Natasha answered a phone call, the sound of her voice mixing in with the soft noises around you. You barely registered as she tucked your jacket more tightly around your body, just as you fell into a light sleep.

* * *

"Hey, wake up."

You stirred, pulling the collar of your coat up above your ear, muttering something soft and incoherent when it was pulled away.

"Hnn..."

A light chuckle. "Gotta wake up, (Y/N), we're here."

You opened your eyes, pressing your eyelids together hard a few times to rid them of the drowsiness. 

"...Fell asleep?" You muttered, yawning widely.

"Yeah, you were out for about a half an hour, I almost didn't wanna wake you. You gotta get moving, okay?"

You swallowed. "Yeah, I got it."

You looked out the window at the building before you. It was large and intensely rectangular, white framed windows stamped onto the brick surface like eyes. The awning in the front of the building was arched and supported by tall pillars, and a bell tower stood atop the building, layers of the structure built on top of one another like a cake. People milled around the lawn; a sprawling football field framed by a track for running. A handful of people were running around on the field, tossing a ball back and forth. And suddenly, you were terrified. You were terrified of the sheer number of people who seemed to attend this school, and of the school's great size. 

You pushed it down. No use worrying when you were already here. You opened the door, heels of your boots clicking on the road, and you offered Natasha an awkward wave for lack of better parting gestures. She smiled, returning it, though with more grace.

"Uh," you said, "Peter- where do I find him?" 

"Entryway is where I was told he'd be. Go, you'll do fine."

You said a few more goodbyes before the car pulled out, leaving you standing in the drizzling rain. You cursed yourself for neglecting to bring an umbrella, ducking your head as you began to walk. You had never realized how much you looked like your father until after you were in public and, you know, aware of his relation to you. And now, with your name on the second-trimester roster, everyone would know just who you were. Tony and Pepper had tried their best to keep the media off your back, but the public was now at least aware of your existence to an extent. They knew your name, and why you were now with your billionaire father, and how your life had been before, but there weren't many pictures of your face. Maybe that was good. You'd never had to deal with social situations like the one you were getting ready to face- at least not on this scale and not remotely similar in this particular scenario. But maybe them not knowing exactly what you looked like would help you keep your head. 

The rain was beginning to pick up, and you pulled the collar of your jacket around your cheeks, climbing the short staircase that came off the football field and nearly slamming into the banister to avoid bumping into a stout blond girl carrying a cello case that looked far too large for her petite stature. You muttered an apology, not sure if she even heard you as you pressed on ahead, ducking under the awning and leaning against a pillar when you reached it. You took a heavy breath, casting your eyes to your boots to try and regain your composure.

"Are you (Y/N) Stark?"

The surname didn't register at first as your own, but the first name did. You looked up from your shoes. A young man had appeared before you, broad-shouldered and standing maybe three or four inches taller than you. He had light brown hair and kind brown eyes. His jawline was strong, and a smattering of freckles formed a bridge across his nose and scattered on his cheeks. His lower lip was fuller than his upper one, which stuck out to you for some reason. He was dressed in a pair of black and white sneakers, jeans, and a blue hoodie. A black backpack was slung over his shoulder. He was pretty cute, you thought. Okay,  _really_ cute. You blinked a few times, eyes focusing on something over his shoulder. 

"Uh- yeah, that's me."

He smiled, and it was an infectious, megawatt grin that made the corners of your mouth quirk up involuntarily.

"Oh! I found you! See, I was asking everyone I'd never seen before- every girl, not every guy, cuz that'd be weird- if they were you, and it got... uh, weird. Hi, I'm Peter! I intern with Mr. Stark, so I kind of know him, but you probably know him better since he's your dad and all. Do you know Happy? What Avengers have you met? What's it like-"

You giggled. "Hey, if you want me to answer questions you gotta give me room to talk."

His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Sorry."

"I actually don't know him all that well. We just met a few days ago, after I was discharged from the hospital. Yes, I know Happy, and so far, I've only met Tony Stark and Black Widow."

"Hospital?" Concern flashed in his eyes, "did you get hurt?"

"Oh-" you felt like something squeezed your heart, "yeah, I was in an accident. My... my, uh... mom- she didn't-"

"Oh.  _Oh._ "

His eyes fell on the bandages, the bruises that decorated your skin.

You swallowed the forming lump. "Yeah. That's why I'm living where I'm living now."

"I won't make you talk about it, okay?"

"Thanks."

He chuckled bashfully. "Sorry for making it awkward."

"It's okay," you managed a smile, "let's just go in."

He matched your smile with his own, stepping past you to open the door. "After you, Miss Stark."

You followed him inside, looking up at the high ceilings and curved staircase. People stood in bunches and pairs, chatting before their first classes. Some stood at lockers, and one girl was sitting cross-legged in a corner, a book in her lap. Her hair was fastened back with what looked to be chopsticks. There was a boy in a letterman jacket flirting with a disinterested brunette girl, and you felt a twinge of pity for her. Two Asian students spoke what sounded like Korean as they passed by. The population was certainly diverse, you noted, but you _were_ in New York City after all. 

"Mr. Stark told me he put you in most of my classes, so you don't get lost or anything, so..." he trailed off as he shrugged off his backpack, sifting through papers and withdrawing a crumpled schedule, "yours should look like mine. Also, your locker number is on the top of your schedule sheet, so tell me when you wanna use it and I'll show you where it is."

"Are we... gonna be friends?" You said, looking up at him carefully, then mentally kicking yourself for how desperate you sounded. After being homeschooled pretty much all your life, you'd never really had a friend, save for the other kids in the homeschooling group you went to every month (though when your mother had died, none of them came to see you; all they did was send a condolences card), so everything was very very new to you. 

"Said that without thinking, sorry," you added.

Peter crossed his arms after zipping and replacing his bag on his back. "It's fine. I mean... yeah. We can be friends if you want."

You felt something warm, the first bit of warmth you'd felt this strongly since the crash. This boy wasn't trying to prove anything, or impress you like you thought most people here would try to do. He was just genuinely nice, and that was just what you needed right now. You'd felt cold and somewhat hollow; like someone had scooped out everything that made you who you were and replaced it with something unfamiliar. Natasha's kind, subtle gestures, Pepper's motherly worry, and Tony's dry humor were some form of comfort. You knew somehow that Natasha understood. The sadness in Tony's eyes when he thought you couldn't see he was looking was louder than words. The pity on Pepper's face as she peeked through the crack in the door on that very night before as you were falling asleep made your heart feel like it was being pressed so hard against your ribcage you thought it might burst. But it hurt to cry, so you decided to try not to. 

But, as you stood there in the crowded hallway, the thoughts of the promise of friendship from a boy you barely knew swimming in your jumbled mind, the tears began to fall, and you didn't even notice.

"Are... you okay? Did I make you cry? I'm sorry!"

"No, no, I'm okay. I just... You didn't make me cry. It's nothing. I don't... even know why I'm crying."

You turned away from him, furiously wiping the liquid from your cheeks, pressing your hands against your face. 

_I'm okay. Breathe._

You turned back around, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, but quickly retracting it. "Thank you, for letting me be your friend. I've never... _had_ a real friend. It was always kids from the home school group, or someone's kid when mom went to a friend's house. So I guess it's nice to... _choose_ my own friends this time."

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. "I'll be the best first chosen friend I can be, then."

He gave you a mock salute, and you smiled.

"Our first period would be chemistry, I think. I really like chemistry, it's a lot of fun."

You pressed your lips together. "Not my strong point, but it's good to know someone who's good at it."

"Well, what is your strong point?"

You shrugged. "I like art. I do needlepoint and painting. I'm not awesome at it, per se, but it's still something to do to relax, I suppose."

"That's cool, I like to build things out of... legos... to... relax," quieter this time, "I also... collect Star Wars figures."

He glanced at the wall, and you smiled. "Everyone has hobbies, I'm not gonna judge you."

"You're not?"

You shook your head. "I have no reason to." 

The warning bell rang, and you followed Peter as he began to walk. You swallowed, hoping he'd be here every day. There was about a snowball's chance in hell that you'd be able to remember where everything was otherwise. As you reached the classroom, a chubby boy of presumably Filipino descent approached, talking a mile a minute. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a faded Nasa t-shirt with a green plaid button-down layered over it.

"Peter, are we going to work on that project after school? You know, the one I bought a new set for? It's gonna be so cool, there are 2,000 pieces- wait, who's this?"

"Uh, hi," you said, "I'm (Y/N)."

He extended a hand, which you shook. "I'm Ned. Wait, wait, is she-"

"Yup."

He looked utterly awestruck, his expression comical. 

"You're Tony Stark's daughter."

You chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I am."

His eyes went to the still present bandage above your eye, and he studied it for a moment, but he didn't say anything, which you were thankful for.

"Is she sitting with us at Lunch?"

Peter looked at you and back to Ned. "Only if she wants to."

You shrugged one shoulder. "I really wasn't thinking that far ahead, so sure, I'll sit with you."

Ned pumped his fist. "Sweet!"

He then turned serious, crossing his arms. "We promise we won't be too weird."

The look Peter gave him made you snicker.

The final bell rang, and you took your seats after awkwardly crowding around the seating chart up in the front of the room. You had to stop yourself from yelping in pain when someone jabbed the still healing spot on your ribcage. You instead puffed out your cheeks, clenching your jaw. You were lucky enough to be seated by Peter, and you felt yourself breathe a sigh of relief at this convenience. He was someone you sort of knew, instead of someone random, so that would save you the awkwardness. Then again, your father may have made sure you were next to him. 

You withdrew a notebook from your bag to take note of anything you'd need to remember as attendance began, clicking the end of your mechanical pencil a few times to push the graphite tip out. You weren't really paying attention to what was going on around you, busy tracing the circular punctures in the paper that held it to the metal spirals with the tip of your pencil.

"(Y/N) Stark."

Your head snapped up, and people glanced around. 

"I'm here," you said.

The sound of people twisting in their seats to look at you made a flush of color creep along your cheeks and to the tips of your ears. You could feel their eyes on you. They knew who you were, and the Stark Industries thermos of coffee that sat on the desk beside your notebook did nothing to hide that. You swallowed, the sound loud in your own ears. There was whispering around the classroom as people took in your presence, and you felt like burrowing into your sweater and never coming out.

_"Is that her?"_

_"Stark's girl?"_

_"Oh my god, she looks like she's been through hell."_

_"Wait, that's her?"_

_"Is she okay?"_

_"She's Tony Stark's kid?"_

_"Wow, I expected more."_

"H-hello, everyone," you said awkwardly, voice faltering at the end. Ned offered you a friendly wave from across the aisle to try and ease the tension, which you appreciated. You glanced at Peter, who gave you an awkward half smile.

A few people waved or nodded at you, then looked away, and that was that. But some looked on for too long, at the bruise that was present on your clavicle which spread from your injured shoulder, and at the bandage above your eyebrow. You chewed your lip, looking down at your hands quickly.

"...Right, okay, let's move on," the teacher finally said, and you felt a bubble of annoyance that he'd neglected to say that earlier to spare you from being the absolute center of attention. 

Attendance went on, and it soon bled into class time. You took diligent notes, though not much of the information was actually sticking in your mind. What's inside an atom, molecular structure, covalent and ionic bonding, anions and cations, and what elements made up compounds were among the information that was taught. It was a review of last trimester's material before new things took its place.

"You understand this at all?"

You turned to look at Peter, shaking your head. "I made up a pun, but that's it."

"A  _pun_?" 

"Yes. It's effective, so don't judge me. Cations are positive because of the fact that they have 'cat' in the word, and cats have paws, making it 'pawsitive.'"

Peter snorted, covering his mouth with his hand to avoid laughing, earning a few indignant looks from classmates around him. The tips of his ears turned pink.

"That's not bad. Anything else? "

"Anion sounds like 'anti', so that's negative, but other than that, no."

He looked at the front of the room once more, sliding his notebook halfway across the table. "Wanna look at my notes?"

"Can I really?"

He took a breath, shrugging a shoulder. "Yeah, I can't see why not."

Peter's notes were far from neat, but they were at least legible. There were doodles of superheroes and monster faces off in the corners and in the blank spots, which made you smile. He drew every diagram that was on the board, which you copied into your own notes. It was helpful. You could understand this more than what the teacher was saying, which you weren't exactly sure was a good thing. You couldn't rely on Peter to get you through a tough class; that would make you seem like a moocher. You'd need to study tonight after you got the textbook to try and figure this stuff out for yourself.

"Helpful?"

"Yeah, this is... better than what I had. Thanks."

"Sure."

The teacher cleared his throat, making you both look up to the front of the room.

"Mr. Parker, Miss Stark, if you're not talking about what's going on in class, I suggest you be quiet."

Peter turned pink. "I'm- I'm helping (Y/N) because she was confused, so I actually am talking about what's going on in class."

The teacher raised his eyebrows but turned back to the board. Snickers scattered throughout the room. You looked back down at your notes, silently wishing for a subject you understood more to come soon.

This was going to be a long day, and you sure as hell had no idea what to expect from any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so long, I literally couldn't find any way to cut it in half and not make the cutoff sound really strange. I ended it really weird also, so uh, ignore that.


	5. The Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a math disorder (dyscalculia for anyone who's interested), so excuse me if I stumble at writing about an algebra class, even if it's brief.
> 
> Also, Endgame ripped my heart out. I'm very very dead inside from that goddamn movie. Though, I was already dead inside, not from the movie, so what else is new?

You'd always hated math, but this class solidified that hatred. Ned had gone off to computer science after chemistry was over, leaving you and Peter to go to algebra alone. Your mother had always been your teacher, before all this, so that made things easier. She knew what you struggled in and what you excelled at, and she was able to utilize these aspects to teach you in a more effective way. Algebra wasn't hard, even if you weren't overly fond of it. You didn't particularly suck at finding what number went where the letter was.

However, the way this teacher explained what was happening in the textbook to the class, the monotone of her voice mingling with the noises of the classroom, it all made you feel like your brain was slowly turning to clay. All you'd accomplished since you'd taken a seat after the bell rang was draw a few diagrams that made very little sense to you, as well as some sort of caricature depicting a very willowy blond girl across the room who had fallen asleep. The teacher eyeballed her angerly, but other than that made no attempts to wake her. This was so  _boring._

Peter was diligent in answering what he knew, and that was sure as hell more than you. You did attempt to answer a few questions, but you got both of them wrong, prompting a mean-faced boy wearing a Slipknot t-shirt across the aisle to snicker at you. He was burly and broad, hair in a crew cut. You turned away to look back at the board, trying to ignore him. 

"Now," the teacher said, "can anyone solve this polynomial? Anyone wanna take a stab at it?"

"I think the Stark kid could try, right?"

You realized Slipknot boy was talking about you after a beat of silence. You still were getting used to the name. 

"Er- I... I don't know-"

"Forty-seven," Peter said, hand half raised, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Correct, Peter. Owen, let people speak for themselves if they know the answer or not. I'll pick on (Y/N) when she raises her hand."

"Thanks for that, but I need to try to stick up for myself. I can't just be a doormat to everyone."

Peter shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "I just don't like seeing people be mean to other people. It bothers me. Also, you're not a doormat."

"That's sort of what I'm acting like. I'm just... jumpy. Like I can't relax. I always feel a little scared, and I don't know why. I didn't use to be this way, not before the-," you paused, "before what happened."

"Yeah, you're a little skittish. I-"

"Peter, (Y/N), save the talking for after class."

"Sorry," you said. 

The morning bled into the afternoon, and the rain continued to fall, making you further wish you had brought an umbrella. Classes droned on, and you found a few you liked. English was fun, you thought, you'd always liked books. Your teacher was a young ginger man with infectious energy, which was a nice distraction from everything around you. You were exempt from PE, but you'd forgotten about this until you'd changed into the school provided gym uniform and were lining up with everyone else. The teacher told you that you could sit out, and your aching ribs didn't protest. You didn't think you could run very far on your sore legs. So you sat, against the wall, watching.

You watched the others play basketball, and Peter was surprisingly quick on his feet. A shorter young man with dark hair and olive skin made it a point to insult anything he did wrong, and when he looked at you with a smirk, you simply stared back wearily. You didn't have the energy to deal with him, and if you could think of some sort of burn to get him to shut up in the few seconds he glanced your way, you'd be very very surprised. The next time he looked, you ignored him, as well as the time after that, and he eventually stopped. It was better not to get into an unneeded verbal battle with some guy you didn't know. You'd just end up embarrassing yourself, and that was the last thing you needed.

A basketball suddenly came flying your way, and you scrambled to avoid it, landing on your side. It hadn't been the side with the broken ribs, which you were immensely thankful for. To your annoyance, the boy who'd been looking at you hurried over to retrieve it. You righted yourself, looking to the bleachers, which were much more interesting than what as about to happen.

"You're that Stark kid, right?"

"Uh-huh."

You were used to this question today. You just guessed being asked this twenty-four seven was your life now.

"I'm Flash."

"Flash? Your parents named you Flash? Are you really fast or something?"

He looked indignant. "What? No, that's not my real name, it's a nickname, but-"

"Go back to your game, dude."

"Why? I'm not breaking any rules."

You gestured to the gym teacher, who had been staring at the two of you, whistle poised between his lips. 

"Go."

He did, and you sighed. You'd finish the school day, you'd promised yourself that much. It _was_ last period. But when you got home, you were taking a nice, hot bath with any kind of bubbles you could use. The bell rang, signifying the end of the day, and you stood as quickly as your sore body would allow, making your way to the girl's locker room to change back into your regular clothing, which you'd been told you could do when you'd gone to sit out, but just hadn't bothered with. You changed in a bathroom stall to avoid stares from people at your bruised ribcage and bandaged arm, something you, unfortunately, hadn't done when you'd initially changed. You'd then had to explain to the girl using the locker next to yours why your ribs looked like they did, which was about as fun as it sounded. You  _really_ didn't like to relive it. You did that all the time without being asked, so being asked was just more stressful. You slid on your coat and backpack, trying to put both straps on, but wincing when the weight of the bag pulled on your sore shoulder. You'd have to stick with one strap for now, just until your shoulder was healed.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, sending a quick text to Happy to tell him school was out, though he probably already knew.

"(Y/N)!"

You turned, and Peter was coming towards you as you approached the front doors. 

"Hold up, I'll wait with you, just until Happy's here."

You flushed at the sudden sentiment, just a little. "Oh, thanks. You don't have to-"

"Nah, no problem. That's what friends do, right?"

There was that smile again, the kind one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Yeah," you said, coughing, "that's true, yeah."

The rain was still falling as you stood below the awning, and your phone buzzed with Happy's clipped reply that he was on his way. Students hurried down the track, some with bags or hands held over their heads as they rushed to their cars, and some walked slowly with actual umbrellas. The temperature was a little warmer than the morning, but the rain and heavy clouds above stopped the heat from sinking in. Like the morning, the day remained gray and chilly, whatever warmth there was from the day before gone with the damp pavement. And, amidst it all, there was someone standing in the rain, perfectly still.

It was a man. A tall, slim man dressed in a dark, unbuttoned trench coat, splattered with rain, layered over a wrinkled pinstripe suit. He couldn't have been standing there very long, or you just failed to notice him before. He stood on the stairway to the path leading to the awning, about fifty feet from where you yourself stood. He had sandy, salt and pepper hair and pale, pale blue eyes. His face was thin and weather-worn, almost sickly pale, but he was young. He was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, which was far too young to look so sad and tired. There was a smattering of stubble on his chin and jaw and his hair was pressed against his forehead from the rain, but it stuck up in odd places despite this. With a start, you realized he was looking right at you, and those pale eyes seemed to cut straight to the bone.

"Peter?" You asked, unsure why your body had suddenly tensed, or why your voice had dropped to a near whisper.

"Hm?"

His voice was almost too loud, and you resisted the urge to shush him. "Do you know that man?"

Peter glanced around, unsure of what you were talking about. "What man?"

You didn't think pointing would be the best idea; and if he actually  _wasn't_ looking at you, and was looking somewhere over your shoulder, pointing at him would just be rude. You inclined your head in the man's direction instead, and Peter saw him, studying him for a second. He shrugged, shaking his head. 

"No, I don't know him. Do you?"

"He's looking right at us. And if I did know him, I wouldn't be asking if you did."

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Right, right, sorry."

You would pull out your phone, call Natasha, but something told you not to. 

"Peter, this... he's not looking away, we need to go-"

"I  _know_ ," he hissed, "quickly, walk with me."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and hurried after Peter as he began to walk, and you glanced behind you, watching as the man in the trench coat followed. The rain had calmed down to a drizzle, so you weren't getting soaked, but it was still cold. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the strap over your good shoulder grew tighter. If he was going to hurt you, what could you even do to prevent that? You didn't know how to fight, and you were in no condition to run with your banged up legs. 

You felt Peter's hand on the small of your back, gentle but firm as it pressed you along.

"He's following us," you whispered, and Peter glanced over his shoulder. 

"Call... Happy, someone, your father?"

You took a deep breath to avoid stumbling over your words. "No, Peter I don't think I should, not when there's some  _creepy ass dude_ following us and he might be armed. If I use my phone, I might be completely screwed."

Panic was beginning to clog your throat, and you felt your eyes burn. You could hear footsteps growing louder behind you, and Peter sped up the pace, the press of his hand on your lower back stronger.

"(Y/N), can you run?"

You shook your head, clearing your throat a little too loudly. " _No_ , I can't. I can't run because I bruised bones in my legs in the accident. The one that..."

"Well, that's a problem."

You looked at him incredulously, but you were thankful he hadn't asked you to go on. "You  _think?_ "

The man was still after you when you glanced back over your shoulder, even as you moved past the gates of the schoolyard and onto the sidewalk. You didn't want to know what would happen to you or Peter if he caught up. There was something dangerous in his eyes, written across his face, and you felt dread wrap around your throat when you realized that Happy had no idea where you were going. You told him to come to get you at the school, and you couldn't go back there. You pulled the other strap of your bag up onto your bad shoulder, ignoring the pain. If you had to run, would you drop your bag and run? It would only slow you down, right? 

You still had to reread the chapter taught that day in chemistry.

"I sent Happy a text, but he doesn't... like to respond to my texts, so I'm not really sure if that'll be much help."

You needed to call Natasha, someone,  _anyone._

Your phone rang, making both you and Peter jump. You took it out of your pocket with a heavy swallow and answered it against your better judgment. You needed to call  _someone_. 

_"Hey, kiddo, I'm ordering pizza again, any different topping you want, or-"_

"Dad!"

You surprised yourself with the way you automatically addressed him, but you had little time to dwell on it. You felt tears of relief spring to your eyes, and your nose did that tingling thing it does before you were about to burst into tears. You had to think of a way to tell him what was going on. You heard a pleased tone in his voice when he spoke.

_"Yeah, that's me, what's up? Do you want sausage or pepperoni? Cheese? Just don't order Pineapple, I think I'll go crazy, Clint likes that stuff but I can't stand it. I can order from the city and just have you and Happy pick it up. Can you put him on the phone-"_

"No, I can't, I'm not with Happy."

_"Where are you?"_

You bit your lip. You didn't think you could just tell him outright, you didn't know what the man in the trench coat would do if you did, to you or to Peter.

"...walking," you said after a moment.

_"You're walking? Walking where? Why aren't you with Happy?"_

"I'm with Peter."

_"...Okay, can you go back to the school?"_

"There's this really cute stray cat," you blurted, and Peter gave you a funny look. When he saw the barely contained tears brimming in your eyes, he put his hand gingerly on the curve of your waist instead of the small of your back in some form of an attempt to offer comfort.

_"...What on earth does that matter? It's New York City, stray cats aren't very exotic. And why are you whispering? "_

"I dunno, I guess it doesn't matter, but it _followed_ us for a few blocks and then went into an alley."

A long pause followed, and you almost pulled the phone away from your ear to make sure Tony hadn't hung up.

_"(Y/N), are you being followed?"_

Your voice shook violently; you were no longer able to keep it calm as panic set it, and you swallowed the lump in your throat with immense effort.

" _Yes._ And pepperoni is fine again. Order cheese, too."

_"Where are you?"_

"Not far from the school, maybe a block or two. We're gonna loop back around after we stop at the pizza place. What's it called again?"

_"K, good enough for me. I can track your phone. I'm sending Happy to your coordinates. I called Agent Romanoff."_

A tear finally escaped, sliding down your cheek, followed by more. You squeezed your eyes shut. "O-okay."

_"You're going to be okay, nothing's gonna hurt you. I'll see you at home."_

As soon as he hung up, you heard the footsteps behind you quicken, the footfalls faster; the man behind you was running. You felt panic close your throat, and Peter met your eyes.

"(Y/N), we need to run."

"I can't run very fast-"

Peter swore quietly, and he scooped you into his arms before you could finish your sentence. You yelped in surprise, nearly kicking Peter in the face with flailing legs. He was moving  _fast,_ and you clamped a hand over your mouth to avoid screaming. 

"What-" you cried, but Peter cut you off. 

"He caught on, I'm sorry I surprised you, but we need to move and you can't run with that leg." 

Peter was stronger than he looked, that was for sure. It was like your weight and the added weight of your bag did nothing to slow him down like it would the average person. He shoved through throngs of people on the sidewalks with shouted apologies. He kicked down a sign that stood in front of a cafe, then tore off the side of a fruit stand to send overripe apples tumbling onto the pavement. Pain laced its way along your arm at the pull of the bag still attached to your back, and you grunted. You should have dropped it, but that wasn't an option now with your arms pressed against Peter's chest as he ran.

"My fucking bag is hurting my shoulder-"

Something loud, something like a _pop_ filled the air, and your ears rang in response. 

"What was that,  _what was that?!"_

"Don't look, focus on me," he smiled awkwardly when you looked up at his face. "Hi, it's gonna be okay, see? Also, I'm not for sure, but I really don't think it matters if you make a phone call now."

"That is the last thing I'm worried about," you squeaked, fingers knotting into the fabric of Peter's sweatshirt, "what the hell is this internship anyway? Do you go through training with goddamn S.H.I.E.L.D agents?!"

Peter was quiet for a second. "You could say that."

The popping was back again, and you felt something rush by your face, too fast for you to see. Before you could scream, Peter made a sharp turn into an alleyway. He kicked over a large metal garbage can with a resounding clang, sending trash across the pavement. You squeezed your eyes shut, toes curling in your shoes. Peter muttered soft words of comfort, which you only partially heard over the cataclysmic noise around you. Your ears were ringing, and your body was pumping with adrenaline. You shook in Peter's arms. You barely noticed when he jumped a little too high to be normal, or when he landed a little too gracefully.

"Come on,  _come on_ ," Peter muttered, and it was just setting in that you were  _being shot at_ and you had absolutely no idea why.

Something whizzed by the back of your head, and Peter cursed, biting back a cry of pain.

"That smarts," he said instead, and in any other circumstances, you would have laughed at that. "He's still chasing us? I thought this guy would get bored by now. What does he even  _want?!_ "

"I don't know, I don't even know who he is," you cried.

Someone ran by you, dressed in black, and further gunfire erupted. You covered your ears, the volume deafening this close to the source. Everything was ringing. You noticed that Peter had stopped, back pressed against the bricks wall of the alley. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried to regain his breath. The gunfire stopped, and you could head police sirens blaring somewhere nearby, getting closer. You opened your eyes.

It was Natasha who'd come. Handguns rested in their holsters on her thighs, and another one, cheaper in appearance, lay on the pavement. It had been unloaded; the cartridge was a few feet away. You watched in awed silence as Natasha expertly caught and delivered punches. If she was knocked down, she was able to flip herself back to her feet, and it wasn't long before she had him on the ground, pinned in a painful-looking position, trench coat spread out behind him like a broken wing. He was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder, and the sight made your stomach turn.

"Who the hell are you?"

When the man didn't answer, Natasha pressed his bent arm against his back, making him groan in pain.

"Answer me."

He didn't, and she pressed again. _"Answer me."_

"It's not the name you need, Black Widow, so don't trouble yourself with such trivial information."

His voice was odd, laced with some sort of foreign accent, the undertone rough and low like he'd smoked one too many cigarettes. It sounded vaguely eastern European. It was hard to place. There were plenty of foreign people in New York City, so someone with an accent wasn't unusual. 

"Trivial as it is, I still need a name. Who do you work for?"

There was blood in his mouth when he grinned, but it was forced, like a grimace or sneer. "I can't reveal that I'm afraid."

"Why did you attack them?"

When he said nothing, Natasha snarled, the deadly expression probably not uncommon from her, but it was unusual to you, having never seen it before. "Answer me before I knock you out cold."

"You'll have to think of better threats, Miss Widow, that wouldn't scare a toddler."

Something dark, something dangerous and terrifying flashed in her eyes. "Do you want me to kill you instead?"

She drew one of the guns from the holsters, pressing the barrel to his temple.

"I was ordered to," he said, fear in his eyes.

"By who?"

She pressed the gun against his head further, and he winced. "By  _who?_ "

"He calls himself R."

He was silent, and Natasha sighed. "Is that all we're getting? I'm the one holding the loaded gun to your head."

He smirked. "You'll have to try harder than that. I wouldn't give away something so important to you. That's the deal."

"Then you're coming with us. And we won't let you go until you tell us more. _That's our deal._ "

She struck him in the head with her fist with a loud _smack_ , and he fell limp.

"Did you kill him?" You breathed, and Natasha tensed as she realized you'd been there the whole time.

"No, kiddo, I knocked him out. Parker," Natasha said, "get her out of here. Now, get her home. And get that arm checked out, you're bleeding. You can get treated back at the compound."

Police cars began to pull up, and Natasha fastened the man's hands behind his back with a pair of handcuffs, which you assumed had been stored in one of the pockets in her belt. She rose from the ground, casually dusting off the front of her one-piece uniform, and approached a police officer. As you slid into Happy's car with shaky legs, Peter settling in the seat beside you, you stared at the man sprawled on the pavement. He didn't look malicious like that. With the blood from his shoulder staining the fabric of his coat, and the growing bruise on his temple where Natasha had hit him, he just looked like a victim. Injured. Human. You swallowed your pity. Natasha caught your eye and sent you a small smile as the car pulled out, and you returned it, though probably a hell of a lot weaker.

Happy tossed a roll of bandages into the back seat, which Peter caught with ease. "That's temporary, you can get it disinfected when we get back. Bullet grazes are a nasty business."

"Why is Natasha staying back there?" You asked.

"Because she needs to tell the police we're the ones taking the guy. If she'd just taken him straight off, that wouldn't look so good for her or the Avengers. They'd launch a manhunt for him, and if they found him with us when we didn't tell them, we could be charged. She'll most likely be coming back to the compound in a criminal transport vehicle."

The adrenaline of the chase was beginning to fade, leaving your limbs heavy. Your shoulder ached from the weight of the backpack, which had since been removed; it now sat on the floor below your feet. 

"Thanks," you said, and Happy glanced at you in the rearview mirror.

"For what?"

"You guys saved my life. You too, Peter."

"I didn't do anything, kid. Your father was the one who called Natasha, and Peter acted on his own free will."

You looked at Peter, who gave you a smile. 

You thought of your father calling Natasha about this, for your safety, and you felt a flush of warmth.

"I'll have to thank him when we get back," you said. 

You unzipped your bag, withdrawing the chemistry textbook from within. You may have just been chased by a madman with a gun, but you still needed to understand what the homework in the class even meant. This was somehow comforting, doing something so normal after something so terrifying. And that was what you needed right now. You needed to distract yourself. So you did, for about twenty minutes, before you fell asleep against the window, the book still open in your lap. Nobody woke you until you were home.


	6. Interrogation

As you entered the house, still groggy from the car ride, Tony came down the stairs at a hurried clip, hands coming to rest on your shoulders when he reached you. His eyes scanned over your face, checking for damage with a sort of concern that you certainly weren't used to with him. It didn't seem natural for him like it had been for your mother all the times when you fell down and scraped your knee when you were little. She knew what questions to ask, what to say to calm a crying child. Tony didn't seem to know half of this.

"Are you hurt?" He asked quietly.

"No. A little sore is all."

"You called me 'dad.'"

You nodded. "Yes, I did."

Peter emerged from behind you. "Hey, Mr. Stark-"

"Hey, kid, I'm talking to my daughter right now. Happy- what is he doing here? Doesn't he have homework?"

Happy looked at him. "He's bleeding from the shoulder, Tony, he was grazed by a bullet. That's why he's here."

"Yeah, okay. Take him to the infirmary, see what they can do over there."

As they left, Tony turned back to you. "What the hell happened?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't... I don't really know. I was waiting for Happy in front of the school with Peter when I noticed this man staring at me. He followed us when we walked away, and I didn't know what he wanted or what he would do to me, but you called. And I needed to get help, but I couldn't be obvious because I didn't know what he'd  _do._ He caught on, and Peter picked me up and we ran- he's so  _fast_ I wasn't expecting that- and he shot at us-"

"Hey, okay, it's okay, no need to go on, I can get it from the kid."

You wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. You really needed to stop crying so much, you thought. You'd dry yourself up. "I could have died, or been taken, or-"

"But you _didn't_ , you  _weren't,_ and I won't  _let you be,_ okay? You're under my protection. You're safe here. I won't let anything hurt you."

You tried very hard not to start to cry, as you knew you would if you met your father's eyes or anyone's eyes for that matter, but he lifted your chin gently to level your gaze with his own, and you sniffled. The look of utter bewilderment on Tony's face would have been comical in any other situation, but it occurred to you that he'd never had to calm a crying child, or teenager, or really many people at all. The shock and fear of everything that had just happened were setting in, as was the realization that if the bullet that grazed Peter's arm was a little closer, it would have hit your head, and you wouldn't be standing in the entryway of the Avengers compound holding back tears. It all made you feel very small and vulnerable and exposed. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cut of your nails into your upper arms dulled by the fabric of your sweater.

"I- I want to go to my room- I have chemistry homework-"

You couldn't go farther, your words catching in your throat. Tony embraced you, awkwardly, but you relaxed against him, just thankful for human contact. 

"You know," he said, after a beat of silence, "there's nothing wrong with crying."

That broke you. Your shoulders shuddered, and it almost  _hurt_ to release the sob you'd been holding in. It came out choked and shaky, and you tensed for a moment when you felt Tony's hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair. You felt like you couldn't get enough oxygen, and your face was warm and wet, no doubt leaving a spot on Tony's shirt. Your rib cage ached as your lungs heaved for breath. You dropped your backpack from your hand, letting it land on the floor with a thud, and your fingers curled into the fabric of Tony's shirt. This sudden onslaught of emotions was exhausting, and you tried oh-so-hard not to think about your mother or you were afraid you'd keep crying like this and never stop. Because no matter how much you knew she wouldn't want you to be sad, you missed her terribly, and it hurt. 

They were the worst kind of sobs, the kind that ached and burned your chest, that caught in your throat and felt like they'd get stuck there. You wanted your life to go back to normal. For you to open your eyes to your mother's straw blond hair tickling your nose as she shook you to wake you from your nightmare. You wanted your mother back. You wanted to go back to the uninjured, unafraid girl you were before all this. But as you looked up, just a little, and saw the sadness in your father's eyes, amidst the confusion and fear, you knew that was impossible to go back. You knew you weren't dreaming, no matter how badly you wished you were, and you knew this from the way everything hurt.

_I have to be strong for her. I have to be._

Your arms went around your father's waist, just desperate to find something to cling to, something solid and warm and breathing. His arms went around you, but they felt foreign, almost like they didn't belong there.

"I'm not awesome at this whole... dad thing. But I'm going to try."

You felt a pang of anger, but you pushed it away. You still had no idea why he'd never tried before. You almost said something, but figured now wasn't the time. So you swallowed, sniffling, and looked up at him with bleary eyes.

"Okay."

"Now, what's this about chemistry homework? Helping with homework is a 'dad thing', isn't it?"

You blinked at the abrupt change in topic, but you nodded. Tony Stark _was_ a genius after all. 

Natasha suddenly came through the door, eyes flicking from your tear stained face to Tony's slightly lost expression. She trotted over, cupping your face in her hands. She ran worried hands over your cheeks, and you felt tears sting at your eyes again at the tenderness in her touch.

"You're not hurt?"

You shook your head, swallowing the lump that had risen in your throat as best as you could, but it came back as soon as you spoke. "No, I'm okay."

She hugged you, taking care not to press too hard on your ribs, and the urge to fall apart again came back in tenfold. 

"Who was that?" you asked, your voice very small. Natasha was quiet for a long moment before she pushed back, hands remaining on your shoulders. 

"We don't know. All we've gotten out of him is that he was sent by someone named 'R'. Whoever that is, they sent someone after you, and we want to know why."

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Why me? W-what did I do?"

"Nothing," Natasha said firmly, "you did nothing to deserve this, (Y/N)."

You stared at Natasha for a a beat, then wiped your tears, steeling yourself. 

"Are you going to go interrogate him?"

Natasha hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, after this. I wanted to see if you were okay beforehand."

"I want to come."

Surprise was evident on Natasha's face, and she exchanged glances with Tony over your shoulder. 

"Why not?" Tony said, surprising you, "Why not let her go? She probably has questions. Let her get answers, Nat."

Natasha broke off from you, stalking around you to approach Tony. "Because that man tried to kill her, Tony, and he would have if Peter hadn't been there. He will have a field day with the effects all of this has obviously had on her, and the poor kid has enough on her plate. I think you should-"

"No," you interjected, stepping forward, "I want to know why he wants me dead. I want him to see that I can still ask why. I'm not going to let him make me  _helpless._ "

Tony looked at Natasha. "He'll have to get through six inches of glass if he wants to touch her. And me. Because I have questions, too."

There was something dangerous simmering in Natasha's gaze as she looked back at him. "Fine. But if anything happens, I'm getting her out of there no matter what you say."

* * *

The room you were led to wasn't exactly what you expected. It was lit with a hanging light, a navy blue shade decorating the pendant that housed the collection of bulbs. The light filtering through the shade cast dim hues about the room. In the middle of the room sat a large, sleek glass table, surrounded by chairs that looked largely uncomfortable and far too modern. In front of each chair, screens were embedded into the table itself, their displays blinking in the low lighting.

The wall adjacent to the table was a wall of thick glass, the room on the other side so brightly lit you had to squint a little bit. It was accessible through a metal door, a high-tech keypad beside the door handle. There was a metal table, and the man from before was slumped in a chair behind the table on the other side of the glass. His hair was messy and pressed against his skull with what you assumed was sweat, and his face was pointed to the surface of the table. The coat was gone, as was the suit jacket. A bandage peeked out from behind his shirt collar. His hands were were cuffed, the chain on the handcuffs looped through a c-shaped bar connected to the surface of the table. The slump of his shoulders made him look exhausted and defeated, but your eyes fell to his hands, where his fingers were laced so tightly together that the knuckles were turning white. 

He was angry. Angry he'd gotten caught. Angry he'd failed, angry you stood where you did, separated by the glass, alive and safe.

"Can he see us?" you muttered softly, eyes still fixed on those twisting hands.

"Don't know, is the mirror off?" Tony strode over to the chair at the head of the table, bending at the waist to examine the screen in the surface of the table. "It is now. Everyone have a seat."

You sat down hesitantly in the chair beside your father, which was more comfortable that you imagined it would be. Tony stayed standing, as did Natasha, who opted to stand behind you, hands curling around the back of your chair. It was somewhat comforting to have her there as Tony all but stalked over to the glass, the sudden contact his fist made with the surface making everyone in the room start, including the man in the other room.

"So," Tony said, striding over to the table, fingers swiping the screen in front of his chair, prompting a holographic display to slide onto the glass between the rooms. The man's face was displayed there, as well as various snippets of information that were too far away for you to read. Tony turned, back pressed against the glass as he began to speak.

"You've got quite the history, mystery man," you saw Tony's mouth quirk up at his own rhyme, but it disappeared fairly quickly, "your name is Aleksandr Mikhailov, so since we have your name now, you aren't so much of a mystery. You were born in eastern Russia to a single mother, who died when you were seventeen. You moved to Smolensk, where you assaulted your girlfriend over... money?"

The man, Mikhailov, stared at Tony impassively as he turned to face the glass, arms folded.

"No? Not that? Thought I'd guess. Your arrest report didn't state your motive, and it's more fun to try and fill in the blanks. You got a pretty light sentencing seeing that you fractured her skull. Personally I'd give you more than five years for that, but I don't really make the laws. You moved to the United States after your release, where you began to do some pretty shady work. Nobody was ever able to prove anything when you got arrested, but your name has appeared on somewhere around fifty or sixty lists of potential suspects for murder across the eastern seaboard and into the Appalachians. Someone has been covering your ass, Mr. Mikhailov, and we need to know who. Because today, you tried to kill my daughter, and I don't like it when people try to take my things."

You felt something in your chest recoil.

After a long stretch of silence, you watched Mikhailov's face twist into something dark, and when his eyes went to you, you shrunk back in your chair.

"We have you here for attempted murder of (Y/N) Stark and her companion at the time, Peter Parker," Natasha said from behind you, "I arrived at the scene to you, Mikhailov, shooting at her and Parker as they ran for their lives. She's injured, and either you got lucky in that aspect, or you knew she would have a hard time running. You told me someone sent you. Tell us who."

"And tell us why," you said, surprising yourself and everyone in the room, "why do you want me dead? Why did you try to hurt Peter?"

He jerked in his chair, the metal legs of the table coupled with the chair's scraping against the floor making you flinch back, your own chair pressing into Natasha's stomach with your movement. When he spoke, louder than in the alley, you were able to finally recognize his accent as Russian.

"The boy was not a part of this. And I am not my own to command, Stark, I belong to someone else. I do not have to answer any of your questions. I was told to make Tony Stark sorry," he looked to Natasha, "and you, Miss Widow, and my capture, are only a setback."

Tony blinked. "I can apologize in advance for... whatever it is I did. So I'm... I'm sorry?"

"You won't be touching her." Natasha said, her voice dark.

"Maybe not me myself, no. But orders are _orders_ , Miss Widow, and you of all people would know that very well. Jobs don't go unfinished in our line of work."

Natasha's fingers tightened against the back of your chair, "That isn't who I am anymore," she said, something in her voice impossibly sad.

Tony leaned forward ever so slightly, but he didn't unfold his arms. "Remember what I said? About taking my things? That's not happening. I hate to smear your record, but this is a job that'll go unfinished."

Mikhailov laughed, mirthlessly. The sound scared you, cut straight to the bone. "We do not let jobs go unfinished, Mr. Stark."

"Answer us one question," Natasha snarled, and Mikhailov's eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

"One? What if I refuse?"

"I'll shoot you in the other shoulder."

He winced, but he didn't argue anything further. 

_He's all bark and no bite. An assassin afraid of pain._

"Good. We have an agreement. Now, I will ask again, who the hell sent you?"

He looked at the table, then back up, eyes meeting yours. "The Red Wolf."

Tony twisted his lips. "And are you going to tell us what that means?"

"One question, the lady said."

"Fine, we can play hardball." Tony turned abruptly on his heel, hands pressed together as he paced the length of the floor in front of the glass. "Friday, run that through anything you can find. The internet, library archives, encrypted files, CIA, FBI, NYPD, military, find me anything you can about that name."

_"Yes, Sir."_

"You won't find anything. You can search, look for a scentless trail, Mr. Stark, but you will find nothing."

Tony chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm  _stubborn,_ Mr.Mikhailov, and, last time I checked, I have quite a bit of influence. If you don't give me the information, I'll find it one way or the other."

There was a note of arrogance in his voice that made your lip curl back. This was scary, and foreign, and you weren't  _used_ to it. You pressed your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very small. 

You looked up at Natasha. "I'm gonna go."

She didn't stop you, but her concerned gaze followed you as you left. You leaned against the door once you were in the hall, struggling to stay standing upright. 

_Red Wolf._

You took heavy breaths as you turned to walk back to the living quarters, nerves buzzing. This was new and foreign and terrifying, and you didn't know what was going on. You'd been in a state of confusion for the past few days. Now, you knew one terrible thing. That someone wanted you dead. 

And if Peter hadn't been there, you would be.


	7. Normalcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, hello.
> 
> I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to leave this story for as long as I did. I got really into writing The Hunters, and I'm actually midway through writing chapter 27 of that story. I've been working a lot on editing and refining it as well.
> 
> So, that's a thing. I'm gonna try and direct my attention to my other stories, including this one, so if you read any of my other work, expect some updates as soon as I can write and publish new chapters.
> 
> This includes Blood Curse, for which I have partially written chapter 3. Among other things.

You felt like you'd been doused in cold water as you approached the stairs leading to the second floor, mind still buzzing from the interrogation.

_"Orders are orders, Miss Widow, and you of all people would know that very well. Jobs don't go unfinished in our line of work."_

Someone wanted you dead. And they wanted you dead so badly they'd hired an assassin to take care of it. It felt strange, dehumanizing, to think that someone had put a price on your head, would take joy from the news of your death. It made you feel sick. It scared you. You didn't wanna die.

You came back down the stairs after going halfway up, remembering that you still had to chemistry homework and you couldn't do it to completion without Tony's help. You supposed you'd have to wait, but for how long, you weren't sure. You didn't know how long interrogations usually took, seeing as you'd never actually seen one with your own eyes before, let alone been a part of one.

_Peter might still be here._

You remembered Happy saying he was taking Peter to the infirmary, but seeing as you'd only been living in the compound for a few days, you hadn't the foggiest idea where that would be. 

You wandered about the compound for a while, nearly getting yourself lost before making your way back to the living room. So much for that.

_"What are you looking for?"_

The sound of Friday's voice nearly made you leap from your skin, and you made a wholly undignified squeak as you started, knocking your ankle on the leg of the corner of the couch. 

"Jesus," you whispered, pressing a hand over your heart. 

_"I didn't mean to startle you, (Y/N)."_

"It's... It's fine. I'm looking for the infirmary."

_"The infirmary is down the hall directly to your left when you come in the main entryway. When you get to the end of the hall, there should be a marked door. You can't miss it."_

You took a breath as your heartbeat steadied again. 

"Thanks."

_"You're welcome."_

You followed Friday's directions, and sure enough, there was the door. You were fairly sure you'd gone this way on your initial search, so apparently, even if Friday had told you it was impossible to miss, you'd missed it. 

You swallowed your mind embarrassment and opened the door. 

The room was large and smelled sterile, like a hospital. The walls were lined with glass cabinets full of various medical supplies, the counters clean and metal. There were four examination tables and even a separate glass room with a CT scan. Gurneys sat folded in one corner. The room was illuminated by fluorescent lights, casting the room slightly blue. There was also a collection of hospital beds off on one wall.

The first thing you saw was Happy. He was busying himself with something on a computer, one which was apparently difficult to operate, because every time he tried to switch it on, it blinked off, resulting in a string of expletives. He didn't notice you enter. 

Peter was sitting on one of the exam tables, his chest bare, the sight surprising you. You inadvertently let your eyes fall past his face, to the broad expanse of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest. He had abs, which somehow, from the way he'd effortlessly carried you and the weight of your backpack while running at top speed from a man with a gun, this wasn't surprising. He also had freckles on his shoulders and along the lengths of his arms, almost too light to see. 

You realized you'd been staring and snapped your eyes back to his face, sure your own was cherry red. 

Peter's certainly was. He half-covered his mouth, then reached behind him to pick up his shirt, pressing it against himself in an attempt to regain some modesty.

"Oh- um..." You said, struggling to find words.

"Hey. Hey, (Y/N)," Peter said, clearing his throat a little too loudly. "Can I... do you need something? Wait- You live here so I guess you should be... asking me."

He gave you an awkward smile.

You looked at the wound on his arm, almost afraid of what you'd find, but surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as bad as you'd imagined it would be. It was a shallow gash, bruises painted around the abrasion, and even though there was a square of gauze sitting on Peter's thigh, stained red, there wasn't any blood on the cut. The bruises even seemed to be fading, though they were still rather dark.

"Uh. Ton- I mean _Dad_ is still in the interrogation, and I need help with chemistry."

Peter took a breath, pulling the shirt a little higher over his chest. "What exactly do you need help with?"

You shrugged your good shoulder. "I just didn't really get what we learned today, so I need to go over my notes. But I'm afraid if I do it by myself, the same thing will happen and none of it will stick."

"You can go help her after we've wrapped that cut. Accelerated healing or not, you've still gotta take care of that," Happy said, seemingly having given up on operating the computer.

Peter made a soft distressed noise from the back of his throat. "Aunt May will ask questions. She'll want to know what happened and she'll _freak_ when I tell her-"

"Not my problem, kid."

You stared at the abandoned computer. "What was that for?"

Happy sighed. "When someone gets injured, we have to log the materials we use to treat them on the computer so we can restock if we run out. I couldn't get it to work; Tony designed the system, so he and a few of the other Avengers are the only ones who really know how to operate it properly. I just wrote it on paper, I'll tell Tony he needs to take care of that later."

Peter piped up. "Can I help?"

Happy paused, then shook his head. "Better not. If you screw something up, I'll be the one Tony's upset with for letting it happen."

"Ah," you said, ignoring this, "and what do you mean by 'accelerated healing?'"

Peter looked at Happy helplessly, earning a perplexed look. 

"He means we have... machines that can speed up the healing process," Peter said, a little too quickly.

Happy stared at him. "I mean, technically, but-"

"That's all it is," Peter interjected, cutting off whatever Happy was about to say. "So, chemistry, how about we look at that, okay? "

Peter gave Happy a sharp look.

You hesitated. "Y-yeah okay."

Happy stared some more, then pressed his hands together. "Peter, do you have another shirt you can wear?"

Peter glanced at his backpack, which was sitting on the floor beside the examination table he was sitting on. "Yeah, but it's my-"

"Good. Put it on. I need to go have a talk with your father, (Y/N)."

You furrowed your brows. "Did I do something wrong?"

Happy shook his head. "No, not you."

Happy turned and left without elaborating, his gait quick. 

"-gym shirt," Peter finished quietly, only after Happy was gone.

There was a roll of bandage beside the computer Happy had been struggling with, and you picked it up, walking over to Peter. 

"That's already been disinfected?"

Peter stared at you for a moment, then looked down at the wound in question.

"Yeah, Happy fixed me up."

He looked down at the bandages in your hand, then back at your face. 

"I can do that," he said, taking them from you. You watched as he wrapped his upper arm, then closed it with a clip when you handed one to him.

"There," he said, smiling, "good as new. If- If you'll wait for a second while I put on a shirt, that would be great." 

His face was dusted pink, and you turned away, taking a heavy breath. 

After a shuffle of cloth and a tap on your shoulder, you turned around. Peter was now wearing a blue Midtown High t-shirt identical to the one you wore for P.E. It was slightly wrinkled, presumably from being stuffed in the bottom of his bag. 

"It needs to be washed," Peter said quietly, "Sorry."

You smiled. "It's fine. Maybe we can find something else for you. Dad might have some."

Peter paused before following you, shoving the torn shirt into his bag, looking a little distastefully at the stained sleeve. He put the bag over his shoulder.

"Are you sure that's okay? I don't wanna take a shirt that Mr. Stark likes, or... Y'know, I don't wanna assume."

You brushed off the fact that that sentence a little nonsensical; he got the point across. 

"Let's maybe leave the infirmary," you said, and Peter nodded. 

You ran face-first into Natasha, and when you moved away reflexively to cover your nose, you backed into Peter. He steadied you.

"Hey, kiddo. I just came to check up on you," she said, glancing at Peter over your shoulder. You felt him drop his hands from where they were on your shoulders.

"Chemistry," you said, then added, "I'm fine. Just a little shaken."

_Try really shaken._

She nodded. "Understandable. Happy and your father are having a bit of a disagreement, so if you're doing chemistry, then go to your room, okay?"

You blinked. "Yeah, okay."

Natasha patted you on the shoulder. "Hey, you don't have to go to school tomorrow, okay? You were attacked. I wouldn't blame you if it was a little scary to go back there."

Admittedly, it was. But you needed to go back, regain a sense of normality. So far, that hadn't really been working. And one of the only friends you'd made seemed like he wasn't telling you everything. 

He didn't  _have_ to, per se, but the unexplained strength and speed were a little questionable in your opinion, as you presumed it would be with everyone. He _was_ fairly well built from what you saw, but he didn't seem to be all that phased. It could be nothing. 

The doctors _did_ say you might have a tendency to be a little paranoid after the accident. That could be all it was. You didn't want to be suspicious of Peter, especially after he'd been so helpful. 

But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't brush off Happy's 'accelerated healing' comment. Peter's wound certainly didn't look like he'd received it a few hours ago. Your own gash on your lower arm from the accident was still fairly red and tender, but maybe it was deeper, and that was, again, all it was. Peter was only grazed with a bullet, he wasn't shot. 

_Something's odd._

"(Y/N)?"

You started at Natasha's words.

"Yes?"

She smiled. "Did you hear me?"

You nodded. "I did. But I'm fine. I need to go back."

"You sure?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "I think so."

Natasha turned to Peter. "You look out for her, okay? She's tough, but I have a feeling she'll need all the help she can get."

You half-turned to look at Peter, who nodded. "I will," he said. He gave you a lopsided grin.

Natasha stepped aside as to let you past. "I put your backpack in your room. Get some rest. You're still healing, (Y/N)."

"Thanks." You reached up, letting your hand linger on the tenderness of your upper arm. "I know."

Peter followed you as you began to walk, and he put a hesitant hand on your shoulder to turn you in the right direction as you started down the wrong hall in your attempt to go back into the front entryway. 

Then, you could hear voices. One was your father's, one was Happy's. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but the quick tone and the abrupt rises and falls of the volume were enough to tell you they were arguing. There was also a woman's voice, and since you'd just seen Natasha outside the infirmary and you didn't think she had the ability to teleport, the voice had to belong to Pepper.

Peter shifted his weight to one foot, then the other, bouncing slightly on his heels. "Uh, should we... Should we go in there? It sounds a little hostile."

You chewed your lip, starting up the stairs that led to the living room. "We have to. I don't know of any way else to get to my room other than the staircase in there."

You pushed open the door and the conversation stopped, three pairs of eyes landing on you. 

Pepper was there, just as you'd suspected. She seemingly had just gotten back from work; she was still dressed for it. She shot Tony a furious glare, then crossed, wrapping her arms around you. You stiffened for a half a second but then reciprocated. 

"I heard about what happened. Are you okay?"

"I'm..." You sighed, "I'm fine. My first day at school sure started with a bang."

Peter stifled a laugh.

"Sorry, not the time," he said quickly.

Pepper pulled back, squeezing your good shoulder. 

"She really takes after you," Happy said to Tony.

You managed a smile. "Pun not really intended, but okay."

Tony took note of Peter's presence. "Why are you still here, kid? Isn't your aunt gonna worry or something?"

You glanced at the ground. "I needed help with chemistry so I asked Peter for help."

Tony waved you off. "No problem, he can leave. I'll help."

"No," Pepper said, "no avoidance. This is an important discussion, Tony, do not leave before it is over. Let Peter do it. He'll be fine, he's a smart kid."

Peter blushed. "Thank you."

Pepper glanced at you and Peter. 

"You better go," she said.

You did, hurriedly gesturing for Peter to follow you. 

Once you were inside your room, you turned to Peter, wrapping your arms around his waist. He made a soft surprised yelp, then held you back. 

"This is... nice." He said after a moment.

You blushed, releasing him from your hold. "I just... I forgot to say thank you for saving my life."

Peter looked away, bashful. "It's no big deal. You're my friend. And friends... uh, help friends, right?"

You smiled. "Yeah."

Peter sat down on one of the beanbags, and you sat down on one adjacent. 

He noticed the games and the console. "Oh, sick! Do you play?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, I do. With my mom."

You felt your heart prickle painfully.

"Or I... I did."

You suddenly found yourself blinking back tears.

You felt Peter's hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I'm sorry, I keep... making you cry, don't I? That's... twice, isn't it?"

You siped your eyes. "No, no. It isn't you. I don't think I told you, but I... I lost my mom."

Your voice broke. "Recently," you continued, "it's why I'm here. The littlest things remind me of her."

There was a moment of silence, then Peter spoke. 

"First of all, I'm so, _so_ sorry. I actually... I know how you feel. I, uh... I lost my Uncle Ben."

You raised your head to look at him. 

"I'm... I'm sorry, Peter."

He smiled tightly, a little sadly. "I appreciate it. B-but my point is, it's hard, and it hurts, and even if it doesn't totally feel like it, people wanna help you. So, y'know, let them. Might be hard at first, but it helps."

You felt yourself fill with warmth. "Peter-"

He groaned. "I'm sorry, was that too weird?"

You smiled, shaking your head. "No. I think that was... what I really needed to hear."

A pause. "Oh." He smiled. "Great."

You glanced at your backpack, which Natasha had placed beside your bed. You stood and picked it up, bringing it over to the beanbags. 

"So," you said, "while... whatever is going on down there calms down, why don't we do some chemistry?"

Peter nodded. "Okay. Tell me everything you need to understand and I'll see what I can do."

You did. Which was a lot. But he listened and didn't get impatient or talk over you. He centered his full attention on you, and he genuinely seemed to be interested in what you had to say. You found it much easier to understand what he meant when he explained the lesson than you had the teacher, which was certainly a relief. 

And you felt normal. You wanted to hang onto that for as long as possible, even when you, quite frankly, didn't know what was going to happen next. 

But still, despite this, you were still afraid. You were afraid of whoever- or whatever- Red Wolf was, why Mikhailov, who was, for some reason unbeknowist to you, was hired to kill you. How your father was involved in all of this. You'd somehow gone from average Brooklyn teenager to battered daughter of an eccentric billionaire in such a short time that it frankly gave you whiplash. 

Maybe Peter was right. You did need to reach out. To him, surely, but also to your father, the one man who would be a constant from then on and forever. You needed him, even if you didn't want to need him. But you needed to try. And you would, as soon as the argument died down, after Peter left and went home. You just hoped his new association with you wouldn't get him hurt. You didn't even know if you were suddenly, inadvertently dangerous. 

You supposed you'd have to wait and see, and, more than ever, you'd need your father to figure it out.


	8. Shout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself cry writing this.

Peter left after a few hours after you exchanged numbers with him, leaving you with a much better understanding of what had been taught that day at school. You asked him to text you when he got home, mostly because you wanted to make sure he got there safe. You didn't know if whatever Red Wolf was would target him. Maybe you were just being paranoid, but it was better safe than sorry. Peter also gave you Ned's number, explaining that he was good at listening, so if Peter himself was unavailable, Ned would help if you needed someone to talk to. His support, his seeming need to make sure you were alright, it made you feel warm inside. 

You sat at the top of the stairs, just around the corner as you listened to your father move about the kitchen. You were pretty sure Happy was taking Peter home, and also that he lived elsewhere, so it was no surprise that he wasn't present. You didn't know where Pepper had gone, or Natasha.

_Come on, (Y/N). You have questions._

_Get answers._

_Get up. Go downstairs._

You stood up, padding down the stairs. Tony didn't hear you come in; his back was to you, and he was busy looking through the open fridge.

"Dad."

He started sharply, then turned around. 

"Oh. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by your presence, you do live here now. You need something?"

You slid onto one of the stools in front of the kitchen bar, folding your arms on the counter. 

"I... We need to talk."

Tony poured the contents of a liquor bottle into a glass; he took a sip before he set it down. He then leaned against the counter across from you. 

"What's up?"

You paused, running over how to say what you wanted to say in your head. Everything you considered as an option turned out to be too passive-aggressive or a little too rude, so you just said the simplest version you could.

"There's been a lot on my mind lately."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "That being?"

You frowned. "I'm getting to that. It's just... the crash, and Red Wolf, whatever or whoever that is. It terrifies me, by the way. Someone tried to kill me. And if Peter hadn't been there, they would have succeeded. And Peter- something's off about him."

Tony sipped his drink. "Okay. Tell me about it."

You knew he wasn't telling you something. "He's... He's fast. And strong. He was able to carry me when we had to escape from Mikhailov, while I was still wearing my backpack, and still run at full speed. And when he got shot- sorry  _grazed_ , the wound... it didn't look fresh. It looked like it was already in the healing process. I have a cut in my lower arm, a big one, from the accident. I had glass stuck there, and even after a week of healing, it still looks horrible. His cut doesn't."

_He's gotta be superhuman._

"What is he?" You said, voice a little more forceful than you meant it to be.

Tony looked away, into his glass. "He's human."

"Yeah, I figured. Can you not tell me?"

Tony made a face. You felt annoyance begin to simmer, in the back of your mind. 

"Okay," you said, moving to stand, "you can tell me. But you choose not to. Why?"

Tony sighed, setting the glass down. "(Y/N), you were attacked today. I don't want to put you in more danger."

You blinked. "So Peter's dangerous?"

"No, he isn't dangerous, but he... Dangerous situations seem to pop up around him."

The building annoyance flared. "It wasn't his fault what happened today. That man was targeting me. Peter saved me, Dad, I'm still alive because of him."

Tony's tone was sharp. "Don't you think I know that? I put you in that school in Queens because I knew he'd be there, that he'd protect you if you were ever in danger. We're the Avengers, (Y/N). We're surrounded by danger. Peter Parker is a precaution, and he acted as I told him to."

You felt like you'd been shocked. "You put me there for protection? Is the only reason Peter and I are friends because you told him to befriend me? Did he only save me because you told him to?"

You felt angry tears begin to form in your eyes. 

Tony crossed to the other side of the bar, leaving his glass abandoned on the counter. "I told him to protect you if you were ever in danger, but knowing him, he would have done that with or without my say. And as for the friendship, yeah, I suggested it. I told him I had a daughter, and that she was coming to his school because I wanted her close to Pepper and Agent Romanoff, and that yeah, I wanted him to look after her. He's a good kid, (Y/N), a _sweet_ kid. And quite honestly, I think he's friends with you because he wants to be."

"So is he... is he a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?"

"No, he isn't a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. He works for me, for us."

"So he's an Avenger."

"Uh, depends on what you mean by Avenger-"

You stood from your seat abruptly. "Tell me who he is."

The volume of your voice surprised both you and Tony. You lowered it. 

"I lost my  _mom._ I don't want to wonder things like who my friends are when I have that to think about, too."

"There's no harm in telling her, Tony," came Natasha's voice. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, dressed in pajamas. They were just a pair of black sweatpants with a green shirt, but she somehow still managed to make that look elegant. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.

"Y'know, I don't remember asking for your input," Tony said, and Natasha narrowed her eyes.

"And she's right. She lost her mother." Natasha crossed, leaning against the bar. "She's in a stressful period right now, and having more questions and answers will just make it worse. If you don't tell her, I will."

"Don't tell me how to-"

"Parent your child? Is that what you were going to say? You've been a father, a _real_ father for only a week, do not give me that bullshit. Did you even read those books Pepper and I bought you? If you did, or even if you didn't, you'd know that keeping secrets damages trust."

Tony crossed his arms, pressing his lips together. 

"I skimmed. Read a few chapters. I even had Friday read some of it out loud to me. But (Y/N)'s _my_ daughter. I get to decide what information she knows about the kid. I'm trying to keep her _safe_ , Nat. Especially after the shit that happened today. Someone wants to hurt her, and you know as well as I do that there are people out there who would kidnap and do God-knows-what to her for that information."

"Not if we protect her," Natasha said, "she's a part of this now, whether you like it or not."

"Who is he?" You asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "I know who Scott Lang is, his secret identity. Why can't I know who Peter Parker is?"

"Ned Leeds knows," Natasha added, "tell your daughter who he is, or I will. Or, better yet, let Peter tell her."

"He won't," Tony said, "I told him not to."

"Why?!" You cried.

"To keep you safe!" Tony shouted, making you jump. The building tears began to fall down your face. "You don't know what's out there, how many people want to hurt us, and by association, want to hurt you. You don't know how to protect yourself. So, (Y/N), this is me protecting you."

You wiped at your cheeks furiously. "From  _what_?! I live in a house with _superheroes_ , how am I  _unsafe_?! I know I'm not strong enough to protect myself. I don't know how to fight, I stopped taking Karate lessons when I was nine years old. But I'm protected. Natasha saved me today, Peter saved me. You're the one who called Natasha, so you also saved me. I don't want to be left in the dark by a man who wasn't even a _part of my life_  until Mom died; I refuse to be. I can't deal with that, with more confusion."

Tony moved to stand in front of you. "I was always a part of your life, if indirectly. I sent you and Mallory money after I found out she was pregnant, and I kept doing so until she died. I was the reason you never seemed to have to worry about money, the reason you lived in that expensive neighborhood in Brooklyn. I took care of you and your mother, (Y/N), you should be thanking me."

Tony paused, face going a little pale. "I'm-"

You glared at him, voice dangerously low as you cut him off. "Thanking you?!  _Thanking you?!_ That doesn't _count_. None of that counts. Do you know what I mean by 'not part of my life'? I mean physically  _missing._  You never even paid us a visit, never let me know you existed, you didn't even know what I  _looked like_ until you received custody of me. I always lived thinking my father was gone,  _in absentia._ Mom was enough for me, she was my best friend, and I was hers. We were happy like we were."

Fresh tears began to fall, your anger mixing with something new.

Sorrow.

"We were happy, _I_ was happy without even knowing your identity. And I just want her back."

The admission made your heart seize, made you choke on air. You turned abruptly, heading to the stairs.

You looked over your shoulder, back at Tony, eyes burning. "If you can't tell me something that _literally everyone else_ is telling you to tell me, then I feel like you don't trust me, or that you think I'm weak. Maybe I am. And maybe you don't. You don't even know me."

You held your breath until you reached your bedroom, closing the door a little too loudly in your anger, then sliding down against the wall beside it. You felt like you were about to explode, and even though you'd been trying to quell it, keep it down, keep moving, you knew that if you continued to do that, you'd lose your mind. Especially after admitting you missed her. You buried your face in your knees, curled in against yourself, and let yourself cry. It was like a tap beginning to overflow; like it couldn't be contained in one place anymore. 

And it _hurt._

You didn't know if the ache came from your broken ribs or from your fractured heart, you just knew you were sad, and that was all you could feel. It was the kind of sobbing that was quiet at parts, full of choking and gasping, but then filling out into loud, breathless cries. You were quivering, feeling alone and small and vulnerable. You could call Peter, spill your guts, but you had a feeling if you so much as heard his voice, the concern in it, you'd be incoherent.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. 

Your bedroom door swung open, spilling light from the hallway into the dark space. You didn't bother to look up.

"Leave me alone," you coughed.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." 

It was Natasha. You finally looked up at her as she softly shut the door, then sat beside you, enfolding you in her arms in a tight hug. You held her close, sobbing openly against her shoulder. You could barely hear the words of comfort she offered, but her touch was gentle as she smoothed back your hair, rocked you gently.

"(Y/N), it may not seem like it, but you're going to be okay. Believe me when I say I know how you feel. I've lost so many people. I know how much it hurts when you lose someone you love. But even when it feels like everything's going wrong, and you feel like you'll never be able to feel completely happy again, know that you will. This isn't it for you. You're a strong girl, you'll get through it. But it's okay to cry, to be sad. Just remember that you've got so many people on your side. You've got me, Peter, Happy, and your father, even if it doesn't feel like it. We all want you to be okay."

You knotted your fingers in Natasha's shirt, your face feeling hot and sticky and wet. Tears continued to fall.

"I know. But I  _miss her_. I want my mom back, Natasha. And he doesn't understand, he doesn't even love me. He doesn't care."

Natasha took a breath. "I know you miss her. She was your mom, and I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. Tony does understand, more than you know. His parents died when he was in his twenties. He doesn't know what he's doing, he's never had this sort of responsibility. All other things that have come his way thus far have been ones he can solve with his wallet, his influence, or his Iron Man suit. You're different, though, because you're suddenly his priority now." 

She paused as if she were deciding what to say next. "It's not that he _doesn't_ love you, he just doesn't really know how to. Like you said when you left, he doesn't know you, or he doesn't anywhere other than from the files he has on you and from the picture your mom sent him when you were born. I think he's trying. I agree that he needs to give it more effort, but Tony's really trying to the best he can. Give him time, okay?"

You pushed back the anger, a weak glimmer in your growing exhaustion. "Okay."

"Now, Peter's identity."

You looked up at Natasha.

"You'll tell me?"

"You have a right to know. I talked Tony into letting me tell you."

You had a feeling she'd forced him to let her tell you, but you didn't comment. 

Natasha smoothed back your hair, then spoke.

"Peter Parker is Spiderman."


End file.
